


I Heard that You Fell in Love (Or Near Enough)

by gbuzy12



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, F/F, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route Spoilers, Hilda POV, Hilda tries very hard and is a very good friend, In compliance with the Golden Deer route, Minor Marianne von Edmund/Hilda Valentine Goneril, Non-Explicit Sex, Post-Canon, Temporary Character Death, and also me making up byleth's entire personality, eventually, for chapter 2, just in case, this is more a study of claude's relationships than anything else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:53:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 33,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25188985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gbuzy12/pseuds/gbuzy12
Summary: Hilda informs him one day, her hands on her hips as she eyes the stacks of newly stolen books on his bed, that this is the most effort she’s ever put into a friendship. Claude just smiles, warm yet sly in that way she’s starting to think might be only for her, and tells her he believes it.-Hilda and Claude, over the months, and then the years.
Relationships: Hilda Valentine Goneril & Claude von Riegan, Hilda Valentine Goneril & My Unit | Byleth, My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 39
Kudos: 94





	1. The Monastery

Hilda sighs when she hears the shrill cry of Lorenz’s protests drift down the hallway. She could hear that voice even though he was five doors over; it had become a staple in the past week. Even with everyone coming off the high of their success at the Battle of Eagle and Lion, Lorenz had taken it upon himself to determine Claude’s “true motives” towards the Alliance. She couldn’t exactly blame Lorenz for being suspicious of Claude- it’s not like Claude hid his own distrust- but his straightforward attempts to figure him out were going to lead him nowhere. Asking questions would only give Claude more ways to confuse and frustrate.  
She prided herself on being a good friend, someone who pays favors back. Maybe not by actually doing anything, but by praising and cheering others on. Lorenz _had_ been taking all her chore assignments recently, so she figured she’d pay him back by saving him, just this once, from Claude.  
Moving down the hallway, she can hear Claude laughing over Lorenz’s sputtering. (She hasn’t quite figured out which of his laughs are real, or if any are. It bothers her.) She follows the clamor to Claude’s room; Claude is leaning back on the bed, cackling while Lorenz flails his hands, blush spreading from his cheeks to his collar.  
“I can’t believe you’re seriously suggesting I am trying to _seduce-_ ” Claude’s sentence is choked off by his laughter.  
Lorenz’s response is marred by the high pitch of his voice. “Well how else is one to interpret the efforts you take to spend time with her? _Especially_ since she got that sword.”  
“Some of us actually came here to learn, not just choose a wife. Though it’s not like you’re having any luck with that either.”  
“That- that is beside the point here!”  
It is clear to Hilda, by the smirk on Claude’s face and the blush on Lorenz’s neck, that this is a conversation Lorenz cannot win. She chooses, then, to knock, putting on her most breezy smile.  
“Well then, what’s all this about?”  
Claude gives her an easy smile in return. Lorenz gapes at her, before his eyes harden.  
“I am asking Claude about his… _intentions_ with the Professor.”  
What.  
“What?”  
Claude rolls his eyes. “Lorenz here thinks I’m trying to seduce Teach for nefarious purposes.”  
Hilda closes the door.  
“I was simply inquiring because he spends an inordinate amount of time with her and-”  
“She’s my _professor_ , I’m-”  
“It’s completely unacceptable, trying to use her like-”  
“Just because your love life is a disaster doesn’t mean you have to-”  
“This isn’t about me at all!”  
“Oh, sure, sure, this has nothing to do with you not getting-”  
“Ok, stop, stop! This is ridiculous!”  
Claude sweeps a hand towards her in agreement. “Exactly! There’s no way I’m trying to seduce Teach to use her.”  
Lorenz glares at him, then at Hilda. “Then what-”  
She prides herself on being a good friend, which is why she sends Claude a brief, nasty smile as a warning before she responds.  
“He’s just in love with her.”  
Claude tries to play off his flinch as casually as possible, but she had been looking for it. His facial control is impressive, as always; within a second, he’s already conjured an expression of faint amusement. Lorenz, on the other hand, is staring at her open mouthed.  
Claude’s voice is even and calm, as if he’s explaining something to a child. “I’m not in love with her.”  
She stares at Claude, her most threatening smile on full blast. His face twitches, his mouth twisting at the corner. Lorenz doesn’t seem to notice, as he hasn’t managed to drag his jaw off the floor yet. The pause stretches, until Lorenz finally croaks out, “In love with her?”  
Hilda’s smile is rewarded by the hint of panic in Claude’s voice. “I’m not in love with her!”  
“Oh?” He shoots her a glare before his face smooths over again. He waves a hand, the movement carefully calculated to look as flippant as possible.  
“Attracted to? Sure. Interested in? _Maybe._ In love with? Absolutely not.”  
She’s amazed that Lorenz manages to force sounds out with his lips pursed in disapproval like that. “Attracted to?”  
Claude raises an eyebrow. “Are you trying to say you’re not?”  
Lorenz’s blush, which hadn’t quite faded, returns with a vengeance, making his face match the flower on his lapel.  
“C’mon, everyone’s got a little crush on Teach.”  
Hilda nods. So much for saving Lorenz. She’d landed a verbal blow on Claude, she thinks, but this can’t be salvaged. “It’s the leggings.”  
“The tactics…”  
“The swordplay.”  
Claude’s expressive hands cup in front of his chest. “The just-”  
He’s cut off by an odd choking sound from Lorenz.  
Claude tries again, a smile beginning to curve his lips. “Absolutely-”  
Lorenz flails a hand at him, making that smile grow.  
“Huge, massive-”  
“STOP, stop, you- you dishonorable, disgusting person, stop!” Claude’s grin has something viciously pleased within it, all his teeth showing, but he stops.  
(She prides herself on being a good friend, but it’s too tempting.)  
“Boobs.”  
Lorenz wails like he’s in pain as Claude collapses into laughter.  
-  


The second half of the school year is, to put it nicely, an absolute shit show. Between the attacks on the monastery, Jeritza’s sudden disappearance, the Death Knight and the Flame Emperor and all the rest of it, there has been little time for rest. The ball seems like a welcome breath of air, a chance for them all to forget, if only for a few hours, all the horrible things swirling around the academy. Hilda hates that she’s been forced to actually fight and has avoided it whenever she can. As such, she’s been on the battlefield less than others, but it’s still hard work, keeping everyone’s spirits up when they’re all so gloomy.  
The night of the ball, she takes her sweet time getting ready. First her dress, a dark pink one from home that shows off her shoulders, then her makeup, then her hair. She gently coerces Lysithea into getting a make over before dragging Marianne out of her room to have her hair done. She was, perhaps, a bit aggressive on the timing, so they wind up having more than an hour before the ball is set to begin. She brews some tea while Marianne and Lysithea chat somewhat awkwardly. For a minute, she admires her handiwork. Lysithea looks a bit older, but not so much that it clashes with her figure; her eyeshadow is subtle but matches her dress, deep purple with elaborately embroidered gold lines curving over it. Marianne’s hairdo shows off her slender neck nicely, pulling all of her silky hair away from the high collar of her conservative dress. It frames her face wonderfully and the whole school would know her to be a beauty if she would only keep her face lifted from the ground…  
She spikes her tea heavily with whiskey she’d swiped from Manuela’s ‘secret’ stash in the infirmary. Marianne declines politely and Hilda pours Lysithea a significantly smaller portion. By the time the ball is set to begin, Hilda is pleasantly buzzed and Lysithea appears to be drunk, all soft giggles and delighted smiles that seem out of place on her normally serious face. Marianne, while she hasn’t been drinking, seems caught up in their high spirits, failing to hide her small smiles behind her hand like usual. She laughs at something Lysithea says and Hilda is briefly enraptured by the sound, the fuzzy feeling in her brain increasing for the next few minutes. When they gather themselves to leave, Hilda is feeling lighter than she has in months.  
The levity continues through the feast. There seems to be a sense of relief that has swept through the whole student body, cleansing some of the trauma of the past weeks. The Golden Deer are dazzling, dressed beautifully, their full charm on display. It is clear that several of the Deer have been drinking; however, none of them are smashed like Sylvain appears to be, making dinner more pleasant than it would have been otherwise.  
(They promise to meet again, five years from now. It seems so close, so far, and so very possible in that moment, Claude’s eyes shining and the Professor smiling slightly as all of them agree.)  
The school slowly migrates to the reception hall for the rest of the party. They all stand to the side, waiting for the house leaders to open the floor. Edelgard and Dimitri both move to grab partners for the first dance, but Claude is still standing next to Raphael, absent mindedly nodding as the other breaks down his favorite aspects of the meal. She scurries over and catches him by the elbow. Raphael doesn’t even pause in his description, ignoring her completely.  
“Claude! What are you doing?”  
He seems startled, like she’d snuck up on him instead of barging right up. “What?”  
“You have to open the dance floor for the Golden Deer!”  
He blinks, for once allowing confusion to cross his features. “Why?”  
“You’re our house leader! Look, Dimitri and Edelgard are stalling for you.”  
Peeking over her shoulder, he catches sight of their highnesses and winces. “Shit, ok, but I…”  
“You what.”  
“I don’t know any Fód- I don’t know how to dance.” There’s embarrassment on his face, mingling with a strange defiance she doesn’t understand.  
“Seriously?”  
“Why would I be lying about that?” he hisses back.  
“I don’t know, you just, I don’t know.” He pulls on his jacket, clearly uncomfortable in his formalwear. She is momentarily distracted- it’s cut well, accentuating his shoulders- before she shakes herself back. She risks a glance around the room, her eyes lighting on something. He must see the gleam in her eye, for when she turns back his face is wary.  
“What.”  
“Ask the Professor.”  
Something must really be bothering him for him to be so expressive; he’s openly glaring at her now, annoyance replacing the wariness. “Hilda, seriously.”  
“She won’t know any of the dances either.”  
He thinks on this for a second, his brow creasing, then smiles, sly and sharp. He gives her arm as squeeze as he turns towards Byleth. She cuts a dark figure in her form fitting black dress, staring with slight confusion at Edelgard and Dimitri whispering on the other side of the room, but she is, as always, enchanting. Hilda watches Claude flash their highnesses a hand signal before he’s striding up to Byleth, bold as brass, and taking her hand with a slight bow and a wink.  
She really was a good friend.  
The three couples make their way to the floor and the music starts up. Dimitri and Edelgard, as expected, dance beautifully, both graceful and perfectly in sync with their partners. Their perfection is marred by Claude and Byleth, who clearly have no idea what they’re doing. The two of them spin awkwardly, Byleth obviously staring at her feet while Claude talks, seeming to ramble. She stumbles, grabbing his shoulders as she steps on his toes, and Claude throws his head back and laughs.  
-  


Hilda loses sight of him as the dance floor fills up. She takes a turn with Lorenz, which is surprisingly pleasant, with Marianne, which is delightfully awkward, with Sylvain, whom she holds up for most of it, with Dorothea, who compliments her hair and her dress until she’s blushing. She’s sitting to the side with Marianne for a while, simply observing the room, when she notices that neither Claude nor Byleth are still there. She remembers, then, a rumor about wishes and the Goddess Tower, and smiles to herself.  
-  


(She confronts him about it immediately the next morning, of course.  
“Look, just admit that you like her.”  
“Nope, because I don’t.”  
“You’re interested in her.”  
“She’s a mystery. You know how I feel about mysteries.”  
“Oh, please, this is way beyond that.”  
“Well, I’m saying it’s not.”  
“You went to meet her at the Goddess Tower?”  
“I went to the Goddess Tower, yes. She happened to be at the Goddess Tower as well.”  
“Oh? You weren’t hoping to meet her? Didn’t have your fingers crossed that she’d be there?”  
“Nope. Shut up.”  
“Claudeeeeee. Deny it all you want but you’re not fooling me.”)  
-  


The brevity lasts less than a week. They’re supposed to be guarding the empty chapel, but suddenly there are monsters, the massive beasts shaking the floor with their footsteps, and she’s doing everything she can to not panic, and then there is Monica, her face shifting and changing before their eyes, and then there is…  
There is…  
She is twenty steps away when it happens. Claude is even closer, and his arrow pierces the air where not Monica used to be. Byleth is kneeling, magic pulsing out of her hands, muttering under her breath. She can hear Leonie screaming behind her, Ignatz yelling, footsteps splattering as it starts to rain. She stands there, motionless, as Byleth bends her head and cries. Claude takes a step forward, one hand reaching out, before he turns sharply on his heel. Hilda flinches badly when his hand lands on her shoulder.  
“C’mon, let’s give her some room.” His voice is completely calm, like he’s saying they should go to the market.  
“…how can you just walk away, I can’t just… I can’t…”  
There’s a flatness to his voice when she finally hears it again, a slight inflection that tells her he’s said her name more than once. “Hilda, look at me.”  
She looks up. There’s a deep cut above his eyebrow that’s still slowly bleeding, making lines down the side of his face. The blood sluggishly drips down his jaw, mixing with the splashes down his front. She glances at the hand he’s holding out to her, at the red under his nails and the brown stained between his fingers, then back at his face. It is completely empty, like _hers_ used to be.  
She takes his hand and walks away, leaving Byleth bent over her dead father.  
-  


The next few weeks are awkward, to say the least. Byleth is understandably distracted, giving them most of the weekends off. She’s no longer seen bustling around the monastery, retrieving everyone’s lost items and handing out the perfect gifts with a slight smile on her face. Instead she’s locked in her room, the door stubbornly closed all hours of the day. That is understandable. What _isn’t_ is Claude’s reaction. While Byleth is quieter, slower, more withdrawn, Claude is distracted and on edge. He ignores her more than once, responding incoherently to whatever she’s trying to tell him with his eyes glued to a worn leather book, and snaps at her when she calls him out on it. It’s completely out of character, or at least out of character for the façade that he’s built. It annoys her, then it angers her, so she decides to do something about it.  
Lorenz says something to her about Claude not coming back to his room at night; while he frames it as something degenerative, yet another character flaw revealed, Hilda sees it as something worrying. She takes it upon herself to seek him out one night, sneaking around the monastery after everything has closed and the guards are supposed to be keeping curfew. She is not surprised to find him in the library, hunched over a desk in the back. There are stacks of books at his elbow, but he is immersed again in _that_ book, muttering to himself as his finger drags down the page. He hasn’t noticed her approach and jumps out of his seat when she pulls the book sharply from under his hands.  
He shouts at her, just a single “No!,” but what really gives her pause is the genuine panic and distress in the draw of his eyebrows, the clench of his mouth. She resolves not to look at the contents of the book as she pulls the ribbon hanging off the spine between the open pages and closes it. She places it back on the table in front of him and he visibly relaxes, flopping back into his seat with a sigh. She notices one hand lands on the cover, pulling it slightly towards him.  
There are bags under his eyes, almost as dark as the smear of ink on his cheek.  
“Claude.”  
“Hilda. You scared me.”  
“You can’t… you need to sleep.” It’s not what she’d meant to say, but it’s what comes out.  
He sighs heavily, dragging a hand down his face. His other hand remains stubbornly on the book. “…I know.”  
“You’ve been kind of a dick recently.”  
He looks her in the eye, then. She registers the remorse on his face, hopes that it’s genuine. “I’m sorry, Hilda.”  
His eyes drop back to the book as he idly taps a finger on the cover. There is something disquieting about the stiffness of his shoulders, the sharp line of tension in his face. She’s a good friend, so she takes a deep breath and a leap of faith.  
“Is this something I could help you with?”  
His reaction isn’t something she’d expected, as she’d assumed he would flippantly reject her. Instead, he stares at her for a moment, his face carefully blank, before he smiles, small but undeniably grateful. She thinks this one might actually be real.  
“No. No, I don’t think so. Thank you, though, for the offer.”  
She nods, accepting the rejection she’d been waiting for. “Can I ask what you’re doing?” There is another moment of pause, of him evaluating her face and words. She silently hopes that he’ll understand that not everything is a trap, that she really means it.  
“I’m looking into Jeralt’s death.”  
She conceals her surprise as best she can, though she’s sure he can see it anyway. Her control isn’t quite at his level.  
“Does the Professor know?”  
He nods, his eyes burning into her. Seriousness looks wrong on him off the battlefield, and she finds herself struggling to not look away.  
“She trusted me with this.” He gestures towards the book. “It was his diary. I think there might be some answers in there somewhere.”  
Hilda sighs, feeling out of her depth. “I’m sure she finds some comfort, knowing someone’s looking into it. Knowing that the responsibility isn’t all hers.”  
“That she isn’t alone,” he says in agreement. “Though I’m sure she can use a bit more ease than just this,” he adds ruefully.  
“Well, maybe I’ll put in some effort this week so she doesn’t have to worry about the stables being clean.”  
His barking laughter is sharp, but it makes her smile all the same.  
“Or I’ll just make her a bracelet instead? Or would a broach be better? Maybe she’d want something with glitter and flowers.”  
His shoulders drop even further, edging closer to his normal slouching. “You would know better than me, I think.”  
“Oh? Because I don’t think she’s taken off that bracelet you got her since her birthday.”  
Hilda is gratified by the slight blush that dusts his cheekbones as he looks away. “I don’t know about that.”  
As much as she wants to, she doesn’t think now is the time to tease him for that, so she switches tactics. “It was a nice gift. I’m sure she loved it. And it’s a reminder that all the Deer are with her.”  
The serious look crosses his face again, the steel coming into his eyes. “We are.”  
There’s another pause, one in which she admits to herself how uncomfortable the intensity of this conversation has been.  
“Aaaaaaaand all the Deer should be in bed.” He laughs quietly, but stands up, gathering the books to put them back on the shelves. As they turn to finally leave, she watches him tuck the leather book into the front of his uniform. He pauses by the doors.  
“Hold on, I need to lock these…”  
“Who gave you a key?”  
“Never said I had a key,” he replies with a wink, pulling out a small iron tool. He turns to the door as he continues, “With Tomas, uh, unmasked, Seteth has been keeping a closer eye on the library than usual, but he hasn’t figured out how to keep me out yet.” Something in the door turns under Claude’s fingers and the door clicks. Hilda tries the handle, just to make sure. With the door successfully locked, they sneak back to the dormitory. Hilda starts to narrate their daring exploits across the grounds and Claude joins in, nearly getting them caught when they can’t control their giggles. Finally, they make it up the stairs. Claude pauses at her room, but she tuts at him.  
“No way. I’m making _sure_ you get into your room first, Claude.”  
He sighs, but links his arm with hers, bowing dramatically when they reach his room.  
“You first, my dear lady.”  
She steps on his foot as she enters the room, ignoring his whining in favor of clearing his bed.  
“How many of these have you stolen from the library?”  
He shrugs. “Like I said, Seteth hasn’t managed to keep me out.”  
She deposits the books on his desk, careful not to knock over the little vials on the shelf. Her (minimal) work done, she turns to leave, throwing one last warning over her shoulder.  
“You better get some sleep, Claude. Those bags make even you less attractive.”  
He nods and catches her by the arm, causing her to look at him. “Hilda. Thanks. I really mean it.”  
She smiles in response. “Goodnight, Claude.”  
-  


The tension remains in his shoulders even as Byleth slowly returns to normal. Hilda doesn’t push him on it again, but she does make sure to check on him, to drag him to his room after curfew, bring him food when he doesn’t make it to the dining hall, and ensure that he’s keeping up with his actual studies, not just his secret ones. She informs him one day, her hands on her hips as she eyes the stacks of newly stolen books on his bed, that this is the most effort she’s ever put into a friendship. Claude just smiles, warm yet sly in that way she’s starting to think might be only for her, and tells her he believes it.  
The end of the month takes ages to arrive, anxiety still bubbling under the surface of all the students. Without a mission to prepare for, everyone throws themselves into studying and drills. The lack of new information or a distraction is frustrating, even more so when Claude confides that he hasn’t been able to figure much out in his private investigation.  
It’s the 30th when she sees him sprinting through the monastery towards the dormitory. She waves him down and he skids to a stop, panting slightly.  
“Claude, what’s-”  
“Get ready to move out. They found her.”  
“What? Are you serious?”  
He glares at her, but the effect is ruined by how breathless he is. “ _Yes._ But Teach doesn’t know yet.”  
“Alright, alright, go. But I think I saw her in the entrance hall.”  
He’s already moving as she finishes her sentence. “Thanks!”  
Claude is, as usual, right. They’re called to deploy to the Sealed Forest the next day, causing everyone to scramble to get their things in order. Marching out under the banner of Seiros, she notices Rhea standing on the balcony, looking out over them. She elbows Claude.  
“Look at Rhea. She looks… disapproving.”  
“Fuck her,” Claude spits out, not bothering to look up.  
“Whoa.”  
He sighs, adds more calmly, “She didn’t tell Teach about this, _I_ did. She didn’t want us to go.”  
“Seriously?”  
“Seriously.”  
Hilda risks a glance back up at the balcony, but Rhea is gone.  
-  


The battle goes better than they anticipate, their forces moving quickly through the trees. Not Monica (Kronya, she calls herself) is surrounded by monsters, but Byleth has prepared them well. She turns their anger into focus, keeping them in tight formation; when she charges up to Kronya, Hilda follows, slipping her axe into the openings Byleth creates, surging forward. Under the force of their combined assault, Kronya turns and runs, stumbling over her wounded legs in her haste to get away. Byleth signals her backwards so Hilda retreats, sliding down the muddy hill even as she watches Byleth loom over the bleeding woman. She raises her sword, the blade glowing red, just as Claude shouts from his wyvern. Hilda sees what used to be Tomas suddenly appear and plunge his hand into Kronya’s chest, lifting her off the ground, before her vision is obscured by dark swirling lines. There is a deafening roar of magic, and then there is nothing.  
Only one figure remains on the top of the hill.  
She hears Claude _scream_ , anguished and furious, as a rain of arrows comes from the sky. Not Tomas laughs as his magic cuts them easily out of the air, the grating sound sending shivers down her spine. She forces herself back up the hill, unheeding of the commands behind her, of Lorenz calling her and Claude back, warning them of the pillars on the hill. She’s one step away from the stone platform, Claude’s wyvern screeching above her, when she’s forced to throw a hand up in front of her face. The sudden light burns through her eyelids, and she’s stumbling back again at the horrid noise of something tearing, feeling the ground beneath her shift, when the light and noise end abruptly.  
She feels more than hears Claude land behind her, the massive wings of his mount pounding the ground.  
“Hilda.”  
She looks at him. His face is drawn in awe, his mouth hanging open, his hands slackening on the reins.  
“Hilda, _look._ ”  
There is a figure kneeling on the stones, a sword glowing red by their side. They stand, slowly, odd green hair obscuring their face, before they point their weapon at not Tomas. He takes a step back, before disappearing in a flash of dark magic.  
The force of Claude’s wyvern taking off knocks her to the ground. He’s shouting, pointing with one hand, directing their troops to spilt. Disoriented, she heads left, joining with Leonie and Raphael. She hears Claude shout again, his voice ringing over the battlefield.  
“For the Professor!”  
The rest of the group takes up his call, the army screaming as it surges forward again. Exhaustion slows their onslaught, but under Claude’s command they keep their composure enough to beat back the reinforcements. She watches Byleth (could it really be her?) out of the corner of her eye as she charges, slashing through enemies like butter, her sword glowing red, Claude’s arrows keeping her path clear.  
The monster Hilda has been fighting finally collapses, arrows in its eyes and her axe in its skull, and she turns, pulling her lance off her back. No one has been able to get near not Tomas, stationed high on the hill, his dark magic slicing through anyone that comes within a few feet. He’s beginning to look panicked, however, as his forces are defeated, as Byleth and Claude bear down on him. Hilda curves to the right, hoping to catch his flank as they attack his front. He notices her too quickly, flicking a spell her way; she barely dodges, losing her footing in the mud, and finds herself sinking in the soft ground as he turns back to Byleth and Claude. The Sword of the Creator unhinges as arrows pin not Tomas in place. He screams in pain as the sword catches his leg, yells out a spell as an arrow hits his arm. Claude’s wyvern roars as the magic hits her wings, and Hilda finds herself screaming with her as she and her rider fall from the sky. She scrambles back to her feet, desperately trying to wade through the mud, as Byleth charges forward, yelling in rage. The sword flashes again, the light burning through the darkness, hitting not Tomas in the neck in a spray of blood. Hilda is struggling up the hill when she sees Byleth fall next to him.  
The sight stops her in her tracks. She watches as Claude emerges from under the wing of his wyvern, her flanks heaving as the animal struggles for air. He drags himself over to Byleth, gathering her in his arms, looking around slowly, like he’s dazed. His voice shakes her out of her stupor and she runs over as quickly as she can in her armor. Claude is breathing heavily, Byleth in his lap, his left hand over her heart. His arm is burned black by magic, crumpling his armor, the darkness spreading up his neck and under his jaw.  
“Hilda, I… carry her, I can’t carry her, please, she’s… _please_ …”  
She carefully lifts Byleth into her arms, then slings her over her shoulder after a moment of consideration. Claude looks appalled under the burns and dirt on his face.  
“What… she’s hurt, be careful-”  
She steps forward and grabs him by the waist, settling him awkwardly on her other shoulder.  
“Hilda!”  
“Someone’s got to carry your dumb ass back to the monastery.”  
-  


She makes it to the wagons before her arms start to really shake, making sure the two of them are arranged comfortably on the bedrolls before she lets herself sit down heavily on the floor of the cart. They’re left in the care of the Seiros monks; Marianne had returned to the field to heal the abandoned animals enough to get them back to the monastery. When Hilda had told her about Claude’s wyvern, her face creased in such worry Hilda’s heart had clenched painfully in her chest. She knows she’s in the way of the monks, but her legs are like jelly after fighting and then carrying them so far. The church monks smile understandingly though, letting her dump her muddy armor in the corner, asking her kindly to hold Claude’s arm while they bandage it. She stares at his face as they work, his features twisted in pain as his breaths come quick and shallow.  
Beside her, the monks attending to Byleth begin to whisper frantically. Even amidst the rattling of the wagon she’s able to hear them whisper, “She has no heartbeat.”  
Claude seems to hear it too, turning his face towards Hilda as he struggles to speak. “She never… she never had one.”  
“Never had one?”  
“A heartbeat.”  
In bewilderment she relays this information to the monks, who seem even more confused than she is. Claude’s face remains drawn and pale under the blood and burns. She doesn’t ask him to explain.  
-  


A week passes before Claude is released from the infirmary. Professor Manuela asks her to escort him back to his room, since she’d been visiting so much, bringing him written work and sneaking in pastries. Hilda had kept him updated on Byleth, who had recovered soon after the troops return to the monastery. Kept secret is the fact that Byleth had been spending long hours with Rhea and Seteth, something Hilda thought would agitate him, and she had been strictly told not to upset him. The burns had already faded under Manuela’s gentle hands, but there was scarring under his jaw, where the magic had hit his skin directly. White lines swirl in intricate patterns against his tan skin, ending abruptly at his collar; she tries to joke that they look cool and add another layer of mystery to him, but her words never seem to land right.  
She doesn’t tell him about Byleth’s meetings until they’re back in his room, the door firmly shut. Predictably, the anger flashes in his eyes, though he allows it to linger. Hilda can’t help but feel amazed by the amount of emotion he’s been showing her recently. She chalks it up to having proved herself a good friend, maybe someone he might even trust, if only a little bit.  
“Can you tell me about her heartbeat?”  
The anger in his eyes rises as his mouth twists into a scowl briefly. “I don’t really know what happened. But…” A moment of consideration, evaluation. She stands tall, lets his eyes drag over her face, until he decides. “Jeralt seemed to think it had something to do with Rhea.”  
That was a surprise. “Rhea?”  
“He didn’t have any proof, of course. And I’m not sure he was on the right track either. But it’s true that she wants something from Teach.”  
“Doesn’t that seem odd? The Professor is constantly saying she doesn’t know much about the Church, or her crest. Why would Rhea want anything from her?”  
Claude takes a deep breath before blowing it out noisily. “I don’t know. At first, I just… well, I thought Teach was lying. Seemed awful suspicious that someone from Fódlan could know so little about the Church, let alone so little about themselves. But… the whole business with Solon, with her hair, with her crest… it’s unbelievable. And she has no idea what’s happening, I’m convinced of that now.”  
“But Rhea does?”  
“She knows something, something that she’s not sharing with Teach. I just don’t know what it could be.” The anger has faded somewhat, leaving him looking lost and worried. She remembers him falling out of the sky, dragging himself towards Byleth, and has to look away.  
“What should we do?”  
“I… I don’t know. Support Teach, I guess. I just don’t have enough _information._ ” He bites the last word out, clearly frustrated.  
“Support I can give. But I can’t help you on the information front. I’m just a sweet girl, you know?”  
Adding her brightest smile only earns her a deeply skeptical look, but at least it’s not frustration or pain.  
“You know you can’t count on me, Claude. I’m just a delicate flower.” He snorts in response, before his face crumples again.  
“I want to help her,” he says helplessly, “I want to do _something_ , I hate being on the sidelines.”  
“We’re going to get her through this.” She tries to inject confidence into her voice, but she gets the feeling that she’s falling short.  
-  


Blessed by the Goddess. A rare crest, a rare change. A blessing that hadn’t been bestowed on anyone in centuries. A saint’s power.  
Byleth looks like she wants the ground to swallow her. She actually shies away from Ignatz when he gushes about her new power, as if she couldn’t kill him in a second. The rest of the group is staring at her in awe, making her curve even further back behind her desk. Hilda catches Claude’s eye from where they stand in the back, and he grimaces and shimmies over, ignoring Byleth’s quiet answers to the torrent of questions.  
“Invite her to tea or something, she likes tea.”  
“Me?! Aren’t you her favorite?”  
He makes a face. “I’m not her favorite.”  
“What planet are you on?”  
“It doesn’t matter! You do it. I think I showed a little too much interest in her before to be comforting now.”  
“Oh, your nefarious seduction plan?”  
“It was _not_ \- look, just do it.”  
“ _Fine._ But only because I’m a good friend.”  
“To whom? Me or her?”  
“Her, obviously.”  
He huffs in mock annoyance before pushing her forward through the small crowd of Deer.  
And so she ends up awkwardly across the table from a very flustered looking Byleth. Byleth is at best a mediocre conversationalist, seeming to almost guess at topics that might be of interest, but today she is picking all the wrong options. Their tea time grinds to a halt, neither of them really having much to say to the other. Hilda taps her fingers on the table awkwardly, wishing she knew what to do to salvage this.  
“So, that, uh, that Marianne, huh?”  
Hilda knows she must be making a face, because _what_ , but Byleth plunges on.  
“She’s got great hair.”  
There’s more silence. Marianne _does_ have great hair, but why is Byleth bringing it up? Surely, she can’t know how much Hilda thinks about Marianne’s great hair and great… other things. As Hilda stares, Byleth actually winces, pushing her own hair behind her ear like the action will protect her from her own horrible conversation skills.  
“I mean… I guess?”  
“Did you do it?”  
“What?”  
“Did you do her hair? You know, for the ball?”  
The ball that was weeks ago? “Yeah, I did.”  
“It looked nice.”  
“Thanks.”  
Another pause. Hilda is struck by an idea. She’s supposed to be cheering Byleth up, not letting the silence stretch into infinity.  
“How about I do yours?”  
“My hair?”  
“Yeah! I can cut it, or, or style it, if you wanted.”  
Byleth seems to think about this a moment. Her face is more expressive than even last week, her brow furrowing noticeably. Hilda wonders if it’s a side effect of the blessing.  
“Um, sure. If you want. Maybe… Maybe you could cut it short?” Hilda gets up and pulls out a small pocket mirror, coming around to stand behind Byleth. She hands over the mirror and watches Byleth struggle to line it up properly before taking her hair in her hands. It’s not at all what she expected, silky and smooth, with no tangles to speak of.  
“How short do you want it?” She uses her fingers to show different lengths, gradually going shorter until Byleth nods.  
“About shoulder length? Sure! Let’s go to my room, I have my stuff there.”  
She forces herself to chat as they walk the grounds to the dorms, aimlessly filling the air with her tips on fashion and jewelry. Byleth barely responds, but she nods and smiles, so Hilda concludes she’s doing well.  
In her room, Hilda washes Byleth’s hair, taking her time, before drying it enough to cut. While she’s cutting, Byleth sits silently, her eyes closed. Hilda is worried she’s fallen asleep, but she opens her eyes and responds when asked again about the length. When she’s done, the floor is covered in light green strands and the sun is beginning to cast orange beams into the room. She gives her hand mirror to Byleth, who stares at her own reflection for so long Hilda starts to actually wring her hands.  
“It’s nice.”  
She thinks her smile is too obviously relieved, but she responds cheerfully anyway. “Good! I think it rounds out your image change.”  
Byleth sighs. “I didn’t ask for this,” she says quietly.  
Hilda shifts on her feet, trying to think of an appropriate response; she decides for brevity. A good friend, not a serious one.  
“Yeah, but look at your hair! How many people have this lovely color? And those eyes! They’ll draw anyone in immediately. Just an instant and they’ll be _enraptured_.”  
Thankfully, Byleth laughs quietly, turning her head to see herself better in the mirror.  
“They are a pretty color, aren’t they?”  
Hilda squeezes her shoulder, leaning over her. “Yeah, they really are.”  
-  


(Hilda pretends to not have noticed Claude walk straight into the door jamb when he arrives (late, as usual) in the classroom the next day. Or, more accurately, she pretends to not have noticed until lunch, when she teases him mercilessly until he turns the color of Edelgard’s tights.)  
-  


As blessed as she is, Byleth seems to have the absolute worst luck. Of course Edelgard’s surprise assault comes during her ceremony, the Flame Emperor declaring herself the new Adrestian Emperor the instant the group leaves the Holy Tomb. The battle is a complete mess, the monastery writhing like an anthill that’s been kicked. Outside the Holy Tomb, the students scramble to defend the walls alongside the Knights of Seiros, the staff running themselves ragged trying to get enough supplies to the front lines and the medical tents. Some students turn to the Imperial Army over the course of the battle, further confusing the fight. The grounds are a mess of bodies and equipment, troops of every color scurrying left and right. She thinks she sees Claude, back to back with Dimitri outside the walls, but then she’s distracted by a deafening roar as an honest to Goddess _dragon_ flies above the monastery. It lands, its voice drowning out the sounds of fighting; Hilda is so busy watching she nearly forgets the soldiers around her. Collecting herself, she moves back into battle, sweeping through the confused forces. A few minutes later, she thinks she hears a dull roaring, the crashing of stone. She can’t locate the source of the noise before the horns are sounding, the red flag of the Empire rising above the monastery’s entrance.  
-  


(The dragon is gone when the fighting is over. So is Byleth.)  
-  
Claude is in a small tent, sitting cross legged on the ground while he writes furiously on a broken piece of a shield. The Alliances students are moving slowly, making their way back east under the careful eyes of the Imperial Army. They had been stuck in the monastery for nearly three months, basically under house arrest, while the Duke of Riegan had negotiated with Edelgard. Eventually, the Duke had convinced her of the neutrality of the Alliance, allowing them to return home under escort. The Emperor had taken most of her army north three weeks ago when forces of the Church of Seiros had gathered in Faerghus territory.  
Hilda was just glad she hadn’t actually seen Edelgard since the attack.  
Claude glances up at her approach, signing whatever he’s writing with a flourish.  
“Hilda? What’s up?” He sounds exhausted as he blots the letter he’d finished to dry the ink. There’s a stack of papers piled by his knee which Hilda moves aside to flop down next to him.  
“I’m just trying to talk to a friend. What are you writing?”  
“My grandfather has put me in charge of hostage negotiation. In the chaos of Edelgard’s attack, a lot of people went missing. Most of them are part of some house or another, probably taken for ransom. Since I… know her, he thought I would be a better candidate to try and buy them back.”  
“That seems like a lot of responsibility.”  
“Certainly too much for you, Hilda,” he snips back, probably trying to tease but making the comment too sharp for it to land right. She ignores it.  
“Have you… found anything?”  
“No,” he says calmly, not looking at her as he works. “Nothing.”  
“Fuck, I’m- well, she’ll turn up. She’s resilient, you know?”  
“She’s almost certainly dead.”  
“Don’t say that.”  
“Hilda, it’s been three months.”  
“So? You just said yourself, a lot of people are still missing!”  
“People with-” the vitriol in his voice makes her wince, “ _value._ She had no family to speak of, no ties to nobility. No one outside of the monastery knew about her blessing. She wouldn’t be much use as a hostage.”  
“That doesn’t mean she’s _dead_ , she could… still be trying to make her way back! She’s a competent warrior, a brilliant tactician, she’s not just going to, to, get killed by some random kid in armor!”  
“And why not?” he snaps back, finally turning to her. “It’s not like she was immortal.”  
“Don’t _say_ that! You’re already talking in the past tense, don’t _say that_!”  
The energy seems to drain out of him in the face of her outburst. He flaps his hands uselessly, dropping them into his lap.  
“I… you were right, Hilda.” His voice softens, then drops even further, so quiet Hilda can barely hear him. “I loved her.”  
Hilda feels like she’s been hit over the head, his admission so sudden and unexpected that it leaves her reeling. She’d spent the past six months teasing him, joking that he was in love with Byleth, and now he sits in front of her admitting it, his face filled with nothing but exhaustion.  
“I almost told her, too. I said we were more than friends, that our hearts were connected.” He laughs bitterly. “And now she’s gone.”  
“She’s not.”  
“She is. I can’t afford to just sit here and wait for her to come back.”  
“You can still hold on to some hope. A little faith. You’re allowed to believe, you know.” (The Goddess will protect her, Marianne would say.)  
He laughs again, disbelieving. “A little faith.”  
“She is blessed by the Goddess, after all.”  
“…that she is.”  
“So you can believe in her, then.”  
She’s surprised to see the skepticism he allows on his face. “In the Goddess?”  
“No, in… Byleth.” It feels odd, saying her name aloud.  
Claude stares at her, his face carefully empty now. Then he smiles, and it’s small and sad and so obviously fake Hilda wants to scream at him.  
“Believe in Byleth.”  
She nods, hoping that he’ll take it despite the mask he’s wearing. Hoping that he’ll just accept what she says, for now.  
Hoping that this conversation will soon be over.  
“I’ll try,” he says, after what feels like forever.  
The relief washes over her in waves. “Good.”  
-  


They all split in Derdriu, going their separate ways.  
Ignatz promises to visit, if he can. Lorenz assures her he’ll be around at some point, as the heir to House Gloucester. Raphael reminds her to visit his ‘little sis,’ Lysithea gives a politely distracted hug, while Leonie says she’s up for hire if House Goneril needs. Claude sends her off with a tired smile, a promise to write. Another, quieter promise to hold a little faith.  
(She doesn’t see Marianne.)  
(She doesn’t see any of them, for years.)  
-  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have most of this fic finished, so the next part will go up within a week or so! Comments are appreciated, please be kind.


	2. In Between

Lord Holst absolutely _needed_ to speak with his old army buddies in every territory they crossed, so getting to Dedriu takes about six times as long as it needs to. By the time they reach the capital, Hilda is sick to death of her brother, leaving him with her trunk and heading to the address Claude had sent her. All her brother’s foot dragging meant that they had arrived the day of the ceremony, with barely any time before it started, so she packs her dress and makeup, figuring she could freshen up at wherever Claude was staying. It takes her longer than she wants to find the address he’d given, a surprisingly small stone house tucked in a side street near the capital building. Lorenz would probably say it was beneath the stature of the soon to be leader of the Alliance.  
She gives her name to the man attending the door and is sent upstairs, only to be stopped by an intimidating woman with her arms crossed.  
“Where do you think you’re going?”  
“Um, I was invited by Claude?”  
The woman’s eyes narrow. “Invited by Claude?”  
“We’re old friends? From the academy? If he knows I’m here, he’ll for sure want to see me.” She adds her sweetest smile at the end for emphasis. The woman looks unimpressed, but turns and knocks on the door to her left.  
“A Hilda claiming to be a friend?”  
There’s a response she can’t quite make out, but the woman waves her forward and opens the door. Like his room back at the academy, this one has books and papers filling every space. He’s dressed too simply for the fact that his formal recognition ceremony is in two hours, but when he turns, Hilda realizes his outfit is the least of his problems. Claude’s face is molted with bruises on one side, his arm in a sling, his stance stiff and lopsided. He lights up when he sees her, though, immediately holding his free arm out.  
“Hilda!”  
She accepts his one armed hug, careful to avoid pressing on anything too hard.  
“What happened?! Claude, are you-”  
“I’m fine, I’m fine. Just a little fight.”  
“A little fight!”  
“Seems that someone is not excited about the new Duke of Riegan. No worries, though, it’s all taken care of.” His eyes are sharp, his smile viciously satisfied.  
“Are you sure you should go through with this ceremony? These bruises are fresh, when did this happen?”  
She notices he only chooses to answer her second question. “Few days ago, right when I came to Derdriu. Not a big deal, really.”  
“Claude, you look like shit.”  
He laughs. “That may be true. Hey, since you’re here, want to do me a favor?”  
She gives him a stern look, but he doesn’t stop smiling. “Don’t look so angry, you’ll like it. Want to help me get ready? I need to cover all these bruises.”  
The stern look shifts into a pout, but she nods anyway and motions him to sit at the vanity in the corner of the room.  
His hair is easiest, so she starts there, slicking it back from his face. Some part of her misses the little side braid, but she thinks the stupid strand hanging by the side of his face is its spiritual successor and curses it several times before finally managing to pin it in place. Claude has the gall to look amused at her struggle, smirking as she combs the rest of his hair.  
“You sure you want me to cover everything?” she asks as she finishes combing.  
“I don’t want to make a scene.”  
“Someone tried to kill you!”  
“It’s not worth the trouble. The Alliance is already splintered, it won’t help to spark more disunity,” he explains, exhaustion reaching his voice. “I’m controversial enough already.”  
She spreads out her makeup kit, trying to find something dark enough for his skin tone amongst her pale foundations. He digs in the desk, pulling out a palate of his own.  
“Well, you shouldn’t be,” she says primly as she primes her brushes.  
“The other lords are… difficult. They’re displeased with me ruling, since I was made heir so suddenly. And because I’m, well…”  
“Almyran?”  
Busying herself with the powder before turning back to the vanity, Hilda doesn’t see if he reacts. Even if he does, his voice has no inflection in it, revealing no surprise.  
“Yes. I’m also not a member of the Church, so I lose points on that front as well.”  
“I thought you were?”  
His eyes are closed, avoiding the brush as it’s drawn across his cheek. “No, I don’t go for that.”  
“Then what do you believe in?”  
“The earth. The sky. Myself.” As she draws the brush away, his eyes snap open, meeting hers in the mirror.  
“Your friends?”  
A wink. “What few I have.”  
She huffs at him but can’t stop her small smile.  
“And… well, I still have a little faith.”  
The words twist her smile, marring it with sadness. Silence settles around them as she finishes his cheek, moves down his jaw. She meticulously brushes his sideburns, hoping the dark hair will cover the discoloration underneath if she pushes it around. The bruising, she realizes, is on the same side of his face as the scars he’d gotten from Solon. They’ve faded somewhat, but the white swirls still dance across his throat, interrupted by shallow cuts from whatever he’d been attacked with. She tilts his jaw so she can work underneath it, tells him to hold his head there while she checks the height of his collar. Holding the pieces together without buttoning it, she checks their reflection in the mirror. Hilda almost laughs when she realized he looks bored, looking tiredly down his nose at their reflection. This man, the self described embodiment of distrust, just days after an assassination attempt, looks bored while she holds her hands against his throat. She lets go of the collar to get to work.  
“You once told me I could grab your neck, which I guess I just did.”  
“My hand and heart, too.”  
“An impressive display of trust for someone who was almost just assassinated.”  
“Hmm.”  
She starts spreading the concealer over the cuts. “Why didn’t you tell me?”  
“Tell you what?” There’s a slight edge in his voice, but she pushes on.  
“That you’re from Almyra. You could have, you know.”  
“Could I have?” The question makes her hands freeze on his skin. She doesn’t like the sharpness in his voice and she’s not sure she’d like whatever was on his face, so she doesn’t look up. She wonders what she’d done and said, what thoughtless things she’d thrown in his face.  
“I… I guess I don’t know.”  
He hums in response, but doesn’t say anything else.  
“I hope I didn’t disappoint you,” she says carefully, wondering if he knew, if he had guessed how much that would hurt her.  
“You didn’t,” he responds calmly, the blade in his voice sheathed. “I’m slow to trust, is all. And so are you.”  
“I am not! I’m an open book.” His comment was probably meant to be serious, but she responds to it like it’s a tease, as ever dancing away from the serious topics. He seems to accept that and smiles at her in the mirror, the friendly smirk that accompanies his jokes. She smiles back and snaps herself out of the stillness, finishing her work on his neck. When she moves away, he rolls his shoulders, stiffened from holding his head at an angle. She splints his wrist, helps him into some makeshift harness he’d made for his shoulder (“It was just dislocated,” he mentions casually), struggles to pull his clothes over everything. He directs her on tying his sash while he changes his earring, replacing the hoop with a flat gold stud. She peeks at it as she ties his cravat, sees it is stamped with the crest of Riegan.  
“A gift from my mother,” he explains, trying to shimmy a glove on without moving his arm too much. She finishes tugging it on for him.  
“It’s lovely.”  
“She said I needed to flaunt my Alliance roots instead of my Almyran ones.”  
“Oh, does your other earring have a meaning?”  
“It’s supposed to be the sign of a warrior.” She senses there’s more to it than that, but he doesn’t continue. Instead, he tugs on his jacket, ever uncomfortable in formal wear though it’s well tailored to him. The jacket is mostly black, with gold piping and buttons, fitted but still bulky enough to hide his makeshift splint. The sash matches it well, gold with intricate patterns surrounding the Alliance shield, repeated again and again. Crossed over his chest, it hits his right hip with a fringe of black tassels. He flicks them.  
“The sash is another gift from her. The tassels are supposed to be good luck.”  
“That’s sweet of her. It makes you look actually capable, Mr. Leader Man.”  
He grimaces at the nickname, then takes a deep breath as he looks in the mirror. “Wow, Hilda, you really fixed my face,” he says in genuine surprise. “I thought I was a lost cause.”  
“You look good, Claude.”  
“And you need to clean yourself up,” he replies mock sweetly, tapping her on the nose. “Take the room down the hall. Judith, the, uh, scary woman outside, will show you. I need to head over early, so I’ll see you after the ceremony.”  
“Alright, after. Good luck.”  
He sighs. “Thanks. I’ll certainly need it.”  
\- 

Well over a year after becoming the official head of the Alliance, Claude is still struggling to hold the territory together. If anything, his difficulties have actually increased: the Empire’s conquest has started to accelerate, bringing war closer and closer to their borders. He’s preparing for invasion; there’s no other reason he’d travel to House Goneril’s territory.  
(Except for the real reason that he’s coming from the east. He tells Holst he had been visiting Fódlan’s Locket, but she’s sure he’d gone a bit beyond that in the two weeks it had supposedly taken him to check the fort.)  
He’s distracted but polite during dinner, flashing smiles that clearly win over Holst, but Hilda is not impressed. They’re to discuss business tomorrow, so Claude retreats to the room he’s staying in, claiming travel fatigue. She gives him about twenty minutes before barging in anyway.  
Somehow, he’s already managed to spread a variety of documents all over the room. He isn’t reading any of them, though, just sitting at the desk with his face in his hands.  
“Claude?” she calls softly, after the door has hit the wall loud enough to be heard in the whole house. He doesn’t respond, so she closes the door and puts a hand on his shoulder.  
“Claude?” she asks again, even quieter.  
She feels him breathe deeply under her hand.  
“My father is dying.” His voice is almost lost entirely in his palms. Hilda feels herself still in discomfort. Even in the years of warfare since their academy days, she had avoided the serious things. She still thought of herself as a good friend; she wrote letters, stayed in touch or at least tried to, invited him over when he was nearby. But this isn’t something she knows how to deal with, something that crosses the line of their partner-in-(minor) crime relationship. She awkwardly begins to rub circles into his shirt, hoping that the gesture is the right move. He sighs, his whole body shifting with the movement, and gestures at the papers in front of him before his hands slide into his hair.  
“The healers think he has another year, maybe. Just like us. Half of Faerghus is already the Empire’s. Only the east remains and who knows how quickly it will fall. Edelgard will turn on the Alliance next, starting with the south, and half the lords will join her thinking they’ll keep their houses if they surrender instead of fighting. They’ll lose everything, the rest of us will be surrounded by enemies and fall. And no one will listen to me.”  
“Claude, I-”  
“I’ve tried just… so many times. I’ve talked to them all. More than once. And they still believe this, this _shit._ ” His voice starts to rise suddenly, his words blurring together. “They believe Edelgard will let them keep power, they believe that Faerghus will hold out somehow, they believe that _fucking Rhea_ is still out there and not rotting in some imperial dungeon, and that having a half breed ruler is worse than being conquered by a madwoman!”  
“Claude, _breathe._ ”  
His fingers twist in his hair so viciously she’s afraid he’ll hurt himself. The silence stretches horribly, and Hilda’s about to try to pull his hands away when Claude’s shoulders drop suddenly. She can hear him breathing noisily through his nose (it reminds her of someone else, of hiding in the corner of the stables and letting her hand stay on a thin back longer than it should), before he suddenly straightens up, looking her in the eye.  
“I met with Edelgard, two months ago. You know what she told me?”  
Hilda shakes her head, silently. He looks completely and utterly exhausted, drained of the mischief and confidence that usually made their home in his eyes.  
“She said that one of us will change this continent. But only one.” She lets out a breath when his eyes slide off her to the wall, feeling like she’s been released from the depth of his gaze.  
They sit there, neither speaking, breathing almost in sync. Eventually, she moves some of the papers aside and perches on the corner of the desk. Claude’s eyes flash to her thigh, to the stripe of skin between the stockings and the skirt, before he looks away again. She doesn’t miss it though.  
_My hand, my heart, even my neck_.  
Maybe this is the right move.  
She takes his hand, and puts it on her thigh.  
(She won’t say she’s never thought about it before.)  
He lifts her easily before dropping her on the bed and they are immediately a tangle of too much clothing and not enough skin. Once their clothes are scattered across the room, they move quickly, rushing to the end, scrabbling at whatever release they can find. She comes with her hands deep in his hair; he comes biting his lip, exposing his neck.  
It hurts, knowing he’s holding someone else’s name in, knowing she is a pale substitution of a woman over four years gone from this earth. (It hurts, knowing she’s wishing he was someone else, knowing he is a poor replacement of a woman over four years gone from her.)  
(She wonders if this means they’ve both given up.)  
-  


It doesn’t change anything, not like she’s afraid it will. He still gives her the warm sly smile he has on the corner of his mouth, she still teases him about his fashion sense and his table manners, and Lord Holst still won’t agree to move any troops from the eastern border.  


-  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this time around! Next one will be up next week (and much longer!)


	3. The War

The assent to the monastery is much steeper than Hilda remembers it being. The road leading up to the grounds is cracked and caked with dried earth when it had once been repaired frequently; the ruined towers stretch into the sky above like pikes driven into the ground, a warning against approach. She trudges along regardless. She has a promise to keep.  
Ahead of her, she sees a figure moving in the shadows of the rising hills, tall and dark, fussing over a horse. She instinctively goes for her axe; the war brewing along the borders of the Alliance and the Empire had inspired a number of thieves and bandits to attack lone travelers. Checking the hills surrounding them, Hilda see nowhere that screams a hiding spot for an ambush, so she calls out ahead, wondering if it was perhaps one of the Deer.  
The figure waves her forward and she steps up to them, casually palming the handle of her axe.  
“Hilda! There’s really no reason to be so on edge.”  
“Lornez?”  
He waves. Now that she’s closer, the shadows shifting so he’s in the light, she can see his long hair is pulled back into a ponytail, his clothes stained with travel. He’s leaning on a rock, one of his horse’s hooves held on his thigh.  
“Would you be so kind as to help me? It appears Eloise has gotten a rock stuck under her shoe.”  
She grabs the reigns of the horse, hushing her as Lorenz works the rock out with a knife. It clatters when it’s finally free, Eloise stamping her hooves experimentally when Lorenz lets her go.  
“Thank you. I had been hoping to see more of our former classmates on the road, but it appears we may be the only ones to have remembered.”  
“Well, they could just be in the monastery already, right?”  
“Perhaps.” He doesn’t sound convinced. They continue in silence, Lorenz making a few comments about her hair and asking after her health. Since they were neighbors, she’d actually seen the most of Lorenz since their academy days out of all the Deer, though his letters and visits had gotten more frequent only in the last year or so. She’d seen them all, once or twice at least, when she travelled or they came through Goneril territory; it felt strange, to disconnect from them all so quickly, to see them all turn into people she no longer really knew.  
As they got closer to the monastery, they began to her the ringing of steel against steel, shouts echoing through the stone courtyards. They share a glance before they’re sprinting through the broken gates, rushing towards the back courtyard. Lorenz mounts Eloise as they run, scrambling up her flank awkwardly.  
Coming up the side, they can see the walls teeming with archers aiming at a wyvern screeching above the field. Poorly clothed but well-armed bandits are gathering in the center of the space. A figure rushes towards them underneath the shadow of the wyvern, sword flashing.  
Lorenz scowls. “The barbarity is even worse than the rumors. On my honor as a noble, I will expel these ruffians!” He drives his heels into Eloise, spurring her forward.  
Hilda squints as she runs after him. “Over there… Is that the professor? And the others?!”  
Leonie lifts a hand in greeting as she gallops by and Ignatz gives her a wave. Instinctively they move into position as Claude shouts down from his wyvern.  
“You finally made it! I guess virtue still exists in this crazy world after all.”  
They attack on the left as Claude and whom she assumes to be Byleth cut through the middle. Claude shouts again as more of their classmates arrive, directing them to split into two groups to trap the bandits in a pincer. In the rush of battle, Hilda doesn’t have the time to think about Byleth’s sudden reappearance. It feels like almost nothing has changed, Byleth giving orders on the ground while Claude relays them from above. They fall back into formation seamlessly, collect the treasure the bandits had been trying to take, and then circle up to discuss the battle. It’s so much like their school days Hilda feels a bit dizzy with déjà vu.  
Byleth is dirty, covered in mud and blood, but she’s smiling, her grin wide like Hilda had never seen on her.  
“Ugh, I’m exhausted!” Hilda is panting, her hands on her knees. “What gives, Professor?”  
A chorus of agreement comes from the group.  
“If you've got the time to play with those guys, the least you could do is prepare some tea.”  
Byleth shrugs. “Blame Claude.”  
He sputters in mock offense before suggesting they relocate to nurse their wounds. Hilda walks alongside him; she knows the look in his eyes, and it speaks of something dangerous.  
“Claude, what are you planning?”  
He winks without giving an answer and she groans in response.  
They make their way to the cathedral, everyone greeting each other. Marianne gives her a warm smile as a healing spell balms the slash in her shoulder and Hilda thinks, even after all this time, that her heart might stop. Claude gives her a knowing look that she resolutely ignores. The inside of the cathedral is filled with debris from the collapsed ceiling, but it shelters them from the wind, allowing the sun to warm their skin. They collect themselves, trading stories of their journeys and lamenting the state of the building.  
The idea building behind Claude’s eyes is just as dangerous as she thought it would be. Waving a hand, Claude casually mentions using the monastery as their base of operations.  
She gives him a vicious smile that he doesn’t seem to even notice, too caught up in whatever schemes he’s spinning. “What you could possibly mean by that?”  
“I'm talking about the Leicester Alliance taking over Garreg Mach Monastery. After all, it's right in the middle of Fódlan. It's a critical strategic location.”  
Lysithea frowns. “Are you suggesting we fight back against the empire?”  
Lorenz, of course, has to butt in, commenting on the disunity of the Alliance and sliding in a snide comment about Claude’s leadership, which Claude shrugs off smoothly, blaming the issues on the Empire. Then he’s asking if they’re in or not, and the whole group is jumping at the bit.  
Byleth says she’ll think about it and the confidence slips off Claude’s face for a second.  
He starts with the practical reasons, of gaining Church support and Byleth’s tactics. He ends in a plea, practically begging her to join him.  
“Without you, my schemes are nothing. Just words. Please… Take all of that into consideration as you decide.” Byleth tilts her heard in acknowledgement.  
Hilda catches his eye when his little speech is finished. “You’re really laying it all on the table, aren’t you, Claude?” He winces slightly, so she changes the subject quickly. “This place is a mess!”  
They discuss people in the area, wondering who might be willing to lend a hand. Eventually the conversation turns back to Byleth and her reappearance.  
“What happened?” Ignatz asks gently. “We thought we had lost you.”  
Byleth’s content smile falters. “I… I don’t really know. I was hurt, when Edelgard attacked. And I was… asleep.”  
There’s a moment of disbelieving silence.  
“Asleep,” says Leonie finally.  
Byleth looks uncomfortable. “Yes. I think my blessing put me to sleep to let me heal.”  
“Do you think the Goddess woke you?” asks Marianne. Hilda is surprised at her boldness; five years ago she would have said nothing, hiding in the back of the group.  
“I think she woke me up so I could see all of you.”  
Marianne smiles with tears in her eyes. (It’s bright and beautiful and everything 18 year old Hilda would have killed to see.) “I’m glad the Goddess brought you back to us.”  
Raphael sweeps Byleth into his arms, spinning her around.  
“The Golden Deer! Back together again!”  
-

They talk to the Church council when they arrive in the evening. Claude is evidently uncomfortable around Seteth and the remnants of the Knights of Seiros, his speech not nearly as smooth as it had been with Lorenz. He comments on the state of the monastery, asking Hilda for confirmation; she understands the call for back up and admonishes them for letting it go to weeds. Byleth chimes in as well and Seteth is caving, telling them he’ll start looking for craftsmen in the area. Hilda links her arm with Seteth’s, immediately turning the conversation to potential people to work with; she sees the relief in the slope of Claude’s shoulders as he excuses himself from the room.  
-

The next few days are busy, a blur of people and plans and catalogues of damage. She organizes the evaluation of the grounds, prioritizes areas that need to be reconstructed, helps calculate the craftsmen and supplies needed, directs the work as more people begin to arrive. Everyone is running back and forth from the monastery, finding contacts that might help.  
A week after their reunion, she is trying to find a place to hide. Too many people are asking her for directions and advice, so she finds herself on the bridge to the Goddess Tower, one of the more damaged places in the monastery. She is annoyed when she sees there’s already someone there, but relaxes when she sees that it’s Claude. He’s leaning over the ruined parapet, watching the sun set. She hops up on the battlements next to him, dangling her feet over the edge.  
“Ugh! This is so much _work_.”  
Claude smirks. “Hey, don’t blame me, you volunteered.”  
“Well, turns out your idea is more popular than I thought. We have a lot of people saying they’ll help out.”  
“All thanks to you, Hilda.”  
“Several people even seemed to have been anticipating this turn of events! Exactly how long have you been planning this?”  
He shrugs. “In detail? A couple months. But in concept? Right after Edelgard strengthened the border troops four years ago.”  
“I’m surprised you didn’t move earlier.”  
“Well, I didn’t have the support. Lorenz’s participation is huge, should swing some lords in our favor. Yours, too. House Goneril isn’t to be taken lightly. A renowned mercenary like Leonie isn’t bad either; she might bring other groups into the fold, if we can afford to pay them.”  
“What about Byleth? You think she’ll agree to help us?”  
He doesn’t reply immediately, so she watches the sunlight paint his face in red, deepen the lines of his cheekbones and darken his eyes. When he finally speaks, his voice is softened by wistfulness and longing.  
“I hope so. I need her, I meant that. I can’t do this without her.” He sighs, his tone shifting back to something more casual. “She’ll join if she decides to join.”  
“Was the Professor always part of your plan?”  
“Well… I have multiple plans, of course. I had faith that she was coming back, but, as valuable as she is, I arranged for a future without her in it. If she doesn’t join, I still have ideas… but the Knights of Seiros are important. At least for now, Seteth and the rest of the Church group seem to be giving us their support.”  
“You’ve got the Church, and the Alliance is next.”  
He nods.  
“You think you can do it?”  
“Me? No.” He smirks again, sending her a neat wink. “The Golden Deer though… that’s another story.”  
-

From there things begin to move quickly. The monastery is soon bustling with craftsmen and soldiers, small amounts of troops from across the Alliance being consolidated into battalions. A few merchants find their way back to the marketplace; Claude asks Hilda to secure supply lines, and she soon regrets agreeing, but weapons and food are once again filling the stocks. Amidst the bustle, Byleth seems lost. She wanders the halls chatting everyone up as usual, but she seems listless and directionless. Hilda gives her a few simple requests regarding the supplies, just so she has something to do. It seems to alleviate her restlessness, if only for a bit.  
She asks Hilda for advice on cleaning metal when she returns with a wheelbarrow of fish.  
“You’re a sweetheart,” Hilda says as she accepts the supplies. “What do you need help with?”  
Byleth digs in her pocket and pulls out a filthy clump of metal. Hilda takes it and sees it’s the bracelet Claude had given her years ago, caked with earth.  
“Oh my, what happened to it?”  
“One of the links broke. It dropped in the mud when I was travelling here.”  
“Well, I can clean this for you, of course. I can fix the link too, no problem.”  
Byleth looks a little surprised. “Oh. I had been planning to do that myself.”  
“No, jewelry is my expertise. Plus, anything for a friend, Professor.”  
“Thank you.” After a second she adds, “You don’t have to call me Professor, since you’re no longer my student.”  
“It’s too weird not to. You’ll just have to deal with it.”  
Byleth’s nose wrinkles. “I guess.”  
“Wow, Professor, you’re much more expressive than before!”  
“I have to change as much as you all have.”  
Hilda gives her should a pat. “Honestly, you really haven’t missed much. We’re still the same Golden Deer.”  
“I certainly hope so,” Byleth says, sincerity bleeding into her voice. “I don’t know what I would have done if you all weren’t still here.”  
-

It blindsides her when Claude reveals the new banner he wants to use, the Crest of Flames unfurling above them. It seems to shake Byleth too, who vanishes after his pep talk. When she tells Claude he’d roped them all into fighting the Empire, he simply says he never asked them to join.  
He’s right, of course; he never actually asked any of them. They had all volunteered. But he is pushing the limits dangerously, and Hilda wonders how much further any of them will follow him.  
-

Byleth’s bad luck, it seems, has not changed in the past five years. Within hours of Claude’s talk, Imperial soldiers are marching on the monastery. They scramble to assemble forces to protect the outer walls, their lines becoming confused by the speed of their assembly and the mixture of troops. The battle begins messily, command lines crossing, battalions moving so that they almost collide. Hilda’s worried that they might be taking too many casualties too quickly when the Crest of Flames rises above their lines.  
The wings of Claude’s wyvern shake the banners as he hovers overhead, their forces reorganizing underneath him. Hilda moves automatically into position as Byleth’s voice cuts through the battlefield, Claude repeating her orders from above.  
Within twenty minutes, half the Imperial troops are on fire.  
Within half an hour, the Imperial troops are retreating, their general on a headhunt for Byleth.  
He’s shot down before he’s within fifty feet of her, Claude’s arrows decorating his throat.  
Their first foray against the Imperial Army is a success, the Church and Alliance forces roaring their approval of Claude and Byleth. The Crest of Flames rises higher, a new beacon for their army.  
She finds Claude after the battle, surrounded by a gaggle of admiring troops. He’s practically reeling from the attention, buffeted by people shaking his hand and slapping him on the shoulders. She shoves her way to the front to pat him on the arm.  
“Congratulations, Mr. Leader Man. Looks like your gamble worked out.”  
He laughs, pulling her into a hug and lifting her off her feet.  
“I knew it would pan out,” he says with a wink. “Hilda, we’re just getting started.”  
-

Hilda is quite proud of her suggestion to ask Judith for help, which Claude takes to immediately. The monastery buzzes with tension as they wait for a response. Surprisingly, the attack on the monastery has brought more support to their cause, though Hilda had thought the attention would drive people away. She says as much to Claude.  
“My father would say you’re nobody until somebody wants you dead. We’ve shown that the Empire takes us seriously _and_ that we’re strong enough to beat them back. A show of resolve.”  
“And, um. How is your father?”  
“He’s hanging on, stubborn old bastard. Strange topic change, but thank you for asking.”  
“I don’t want to talk about the war. I feel like I'm drowning in responsibilities. Claude, take my mind off it all! Regale me with another one of your weird childhood stories.”  
He thinks for a moment before launching into a tale of a white camel, lost in a land far from home, finding his way back to his family. His storytelling is enchanting, the descriptions fluid and the action tense, so much so that Hilda is in tears by the end of it, Claude awkwardly patting her shoulder.  
They talk about crocodile tears and fake smiles, fumbling through the heavy topics, and Claude invites her to meet his parents. It’s a strange proposal, but she accepts. They stand in silence for a few moments, taking in the conversation. He breaks the quiet.  
“Is it really only with Teach?”  
“Yeah. I mean, there are other times too, with me, with the others. But it’s usually with her.”  
He drags his fingers over his mouth, like he can shape it how he wants with his hand. She watches him for a moment. This conversation has already been difficult enough, so she plunges forward. (She is a good friend and in this war, she will have to be a serious one too.)  
“Do you still love her?”  
To her surprise, he answers quickly, like he’s thought about it. “I don’t know. It’s been a long time.”  
“What, you can’t tell what your feelings are?”  
“We work well together. And I need her by my side. I know that.”  
“But you also want her with you.”  
He scowls, in what Hilda thinks might be frustration. “It’s not that easy.”  
“But it is! Do you want her or not?”  
“I- I don’t know! She’s… useful? Intelligent? Tactically minded? Unfairly attractive?”  
“She is all of those things.”  
“I don’t know what she thinks of who I am now.”  
“What’s that supposed to mean? You really haven’t changed much, just… shown more of yourself.”  
“Well, I’m not sure she likes what’s underneath. She’s already under so much pressure… I’m worried I’ll unsettle her and that what affection she had will vanish.”  
“Hey, aren’t we talking about how you feel? Don’t dodge the question and make me work for an answer.”  
Thankfully it’s more amusing than painful to watch him flounder over his words, hands flapping. “Look, I don’t know.”  
“She still has the bracelet you gave her, you know. I cleaned it for her a few weeks ago.”  
“She does?” He turns to her quickly, something like hope on his face.  
“See, that reaction says you’re still into her.”  
He groans in response, dragging his hands down his face. “I don’t have time for this! I’m starting a revolt!”  
“Well, Mr. Leader Man, you’ll just have to add your love life to the to do list. Or you can delegate it out, maybe.”  
“I’m not letting you handle my love life. You can’t even ask out Marianne.”  
“That’s different,” she snipes back.  
“Sure, sure. Totally different.”  
They argue back and forth for the next ten minutes, until the monastery bells tell Claude he’s fifteen minutes late to a meeting, and off he goes, turning from his love life to his war.  
-

(“My friend? Really? Wouldn’t you rather be saying my darling, or-”  
“Shut up, Hilda.”  
“-my sweetheart, my _love_ -”  
“Shut _up_ , Hilda.”)  
-

She isn’t a strategist, but Claude’s plan to capture the Bridge of Myrddin isn’t exactly reassuring. It relies too much on guessing what people will do, what the reactions of others will be. If it was anyone else, she would be less concerned, but Count Gloucester is an unpredictable man.  
“And… are you not concerned about the possibility that I may tip off my father?” asks Lorenz, after Claude has laid out the details.  
Claude smiles easily. “The future of the Alliance rests on this battle. I'm certain you won't betray us.”  
Lorenz, predictably, huffs. “I will ensure our success.”  
“I know you will.” Hilda expects a wink but doesn’t see one, his tone evenly serious as he says it. Lorenz looks somewhat taken aback, the expression only fading when Claude continues speaking. Claude goes on to describe his goal, updating it from ‘meddling with’ to ‘defeating’ the Empire. Hilda isn’t sure why she’s still surprised when he starts pushing the boundaries.  
He tells them to prepare themselves for the coming battle and rushes off, no doubt to finish talking things over with Judith. Hilda nudges Lorenz as the rest of the group disintegrates.  
“You sure you’re ok with this?”  
“…I am not. But I, well, I trust Claude’s judgement.”  
“Wow, when did that happen?”  
Lorenz scowls. “He’s an intelligent man, if an infuriating one. I cannot deny that he frequently conducts himself foolishly. But my father is old, and rigid. He simply ignored the Empire for years, letting it grow outside his door like a weed. And now that it is time to cut it down, he drags his heels because he is afraid.”  
“Is that really true? His borders are being threatened. He could be invaded.”  
“Then he should have strengthened his position years ago, when the Empire wasn’t so close!” Lorenz sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Claude had asked him for support several times in the last five years and he refused every time. At first, I agreed, thinking it would simply stir up trouble. But now, it’s clear that the refusal to rally around our leader like the Empire has left us at a severe disadvantage. Even with Claude’s… schemes and the Professor’s tactics on our side, this will be a costly war. And it should have been clear from the start that it was inevitable.”  
Hilda tries not to wince when he stares her straight in the eyes.  
“It is the job of the nobility to protect people. To prevent causalities and to avoid needless bloodshed. Through its inaction, House Gloucester has not upheld those ideals.”  
She reaches out and pats his shoulder uncomfortably. This war has really put her out of her element.  
“Do you want to help me with the supplies this month?”  
Lorenz stares at her like she’s grown an extra head. “What?”  
“It’ll be distracting. And help bolster our forces, keep our troops from starving?”  
The stare continues, until Lorenz eventually huffs again. “Fine. Sure. Fine.”  
“Oh, I guess all your eloquence was spent on your little rant then.”  
She nudges Lorenz with her elbow again, and, to her surprise, he smiles.  
-

Three weeks later, they march out for the Great Bridge of Myrddin. The battle is horrific, leaving half their troops dead or wounded, the river below them running red with the blood of the pegasi and their riders shot out of the sky. Hilda finds herself wandering the battlefield aimlessly when it’s over, sometimes finding a living person she can carry off to the medical carts, but mostly just staring at the carnage in silence.  
She catches sight of Claude, circling the bridge on his wyvern. He might be scouting for any reinforcements, but it’s just as likely that he’s trying to escape his responsibilities on the ground. The shape of wings only darkens the sky for a few minutes more before Claude lands, somewhere on the other side of the river. It takes her much longer to drag herself off the battlefield.  
They debrief, Claude sending Lorenz off to his father’s while he steals Byleth for the rest of the lords. His voice is even and calm, his composure simultaneously reassuring and worrying. Hilda feels comforted that he seems to know what he’s doing, that things are moving along with his plans, but she’s concerned about how little this battle seemed to affect him, when it was draining the life out of all of them. She wonders, not for the first time, how he manages to hold himself together.  
-

Several weeks later, Claude returns on a white wyvern, the animal’s wings beating the air. He waves off Hilda’s questions about her, saying that his previous wyvern would be treated well in Judith’s hands. Hilda knows exactly what Marianne would say about him passing off an animal like that, but she holds her tongue in the two days that they wait for the group. They hold their strategy meeting as soon as they all have returned, Lorenz reporting on the shift in his father’s attitude, Claude explaining which lords of the Alliance have pledged their support after he dragged Byleth to the round table discussions.  
“Thanks for that, by the way. I hope you don’t feel like I used you… because I sort of used you.”  
Byleth shrugs. “Don’t mention it.”  
He nods, accepting her indifference, but reminds her of her new position and, typically, Hilda thinks, asks her to use it to the fullest. Byleth doesn’t seem convinced, frowning slightly until the discussion turns to the upcoming march to the border. Claude seems disturbed, but not particularly worried, by the news of the army marching under the banner of the Kingdom. They break, Claude scurrying off as usual to finish preparations, the rest of the group splitting to take care of their various responsibilities. Byleth looks tired and doesn’t move to go right away, so Hilda decides that the supplies don’t need immediate attention.  
“Tea?”  
Byleth smiles. “Of course.”  
They sit in the garden, Byleth staring into her tea sullenly. Hilda steels herself to have a serious conversation, sensing that she needed to address the obvious wyvern in the room.  
“How were the discussions?”  
Byleth sighs. “They were… long. Everyone has some opinion, something to say, something to prove. So much overlapping conversation that I kept forgetting who said what.” She laughs, a little bitterly. “I felt so out of my depth. Claude remembered everyone, their families, the state of their territories, what they’d said last month, last year. He seemed to handle them all so easily…” There’s something ugly on the corner of her mouth, pulling it up as she speaks.  
“Do you think you did ok?”  
“He assures me I did. That I cut to the heart of the matter and balanced the interests of the Church with those of the Alliance well. I’m not sure if he’s just flattering me or not, though.”  
She says that without inflection, without the bitterness that had been underneath her laughter. Hilda just has to ask.  
“Does it really not bother you? He just keeps using you. He’s used you to rally the Alliance and the Church! I mean, he’s basically turned you into the figurehead of this entire war!”  
“I know,” says Byleth simply. “But I believe in him. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t let him.”  
Hilda stares at her in disbelief. Byleth doesn’t seem to notice, continuing without letting Hilda respond.  
“I was worried, when we were at school. He was a little too interested in my crest, the sword… I was afraid of what he would do to get what he wanted.” She smiles, soft and calm. “But then he started actually trusting me. And now, I’m glad I still have his trust.”  
“Why wouldn’t you?”  
“I was gone for a long time, Hilda. And the world has not been kind to him.”  
“I suppose that’s true. His position would make anyone paranoid.”  
“I just wish he would ask. It doesn’t have to be… He doesn’t need to hide his intentions. I trust him. I could… I could even help, if he’d just let me.”  
“Really?”  
Byleth blinks. “Of course. I think his ambitions are admirable, even if they might seem improbable to some.”  
“No, I’m… I’m asking if you’d really help him. It doesn’t seem like you, I guess. He spends so much time trying to pander to people, to flatter them to his side, to win them over.”  
“Yes? So do I.”  
“What?!”  
Byleth laughs, gestures at the tea. “What do you think this is?”  
Hilda huffs in deep offense. “I thought you just liked tea!”  
“You think I enjoy drinking that rose blend Lorenz likes? Or the sweet ones Lysithea adores?”  
“But, you always try to talk to us, and give us gifts, and, and…”  
“Yeah, so you’ll actually do your homework,” Byleth says with a snort. “I spend a lot of time trying to keep you all motived.”  
Hilda gapes at her, Byleth’s amusement only growing.  
“Maybe you didn’t notice because I’m not as ambitious as Claude, but I work hard to get people on my side as well.” Hilda sputters, trying to find some rebuttal, but it’s true. Byleth does spend a lot of time with them all, making sure to address what problems she could and keep them moving forward no matter what, and in return they push themselves in training and rally around her on the battlefield. Byleth watches her process the information, the amusement dropping from her face. She puts her chin in her hand, looking out over the hedges of flowers surrounding them.  
“I really believe I could help him. I think he’s going to change the world, and I want to be there when he does.”  
There’s a wistfulness in her tone, one that reminds her strongly of Claude standing on the bridge months ago, watching the sun set.  
“I’d think he’d like that.”  
Byleth smiles, warm and sly.  
“Good.” Her expression falls immediately, ousted by a heavy sigh, her shoulders rising like they’re weighted with stones. “He is going to need all the allies he can get, right now.”  
“Did something happen?”  
Byleth looks up at her, her eyes seeming bottomless in her evaluative stare. “Yes. But you’ll have to ask him about it.”  
Hilda nods slowly, accepting the burden of yet another difficult conversation with some reluctance. Byleth smiles again, the curve of her mouth growing slowly.  
“You’re a good friend, Hilda.”  
-

She admittedly stalls for the next few hours, turning her attention to the supply lines before going to look for Claude. It’s a bad habit, she knows, avoiding conversations until it’s almost too late, so when the sun begins to set, she forces herself to track him down.  
She finds Claude feeding his new wyvern, stroking her bone white nose gently as he whispers to her. She considers sneaking up on him, as she normally would do, but decides against it. This doesn’t seem like the time.  
“Claude?”  
He smiles tiredly at her, not saying anything as he turns his focus back to the animal. She follows his lead, taking in the thick scales, the blood red eyes.  
“What’s her name?”  
“Fida. Means silver.”  
“She’s beautiful.”  
There’s a beat of silence, during which they appraise Fida, whose white scales gleam gold in the dying sunlight.  
“…my father died.”  
Hilda freezes, watching him scratch under Fida’s chin, the wyvern turning her massive head into his touch.  
“I knew… He’d been sick for so long, but somehow, I thought he had more time. That the war would end first. That I would see him again.” He leans his forehead against Fida’s. “She was his last gift to me.”  
“Claude, I… I’m sorry.”  
“I have to go home, as soon as this war is over. If I don’t, I’ll lose my claim to the throne. My people will only accept my mother for so long.”  
“Are you… are you implying what I think you are?”  
He turns towards her, his mouth quirked at the corner. His voice cracks when he answers.  
“I’ll be king of Almyra.”  
She hugs him, tightly holding him to her. He buries his face in her shoulder, clutching at her back. She pretends she can’t feel him shake in her arms.  
-

She forces him upstairs and into bed before she runs to the kitchen for a quick meal, guessing he hasn’t eaten. He’s asleep by the time she makes it back to his room, so she leaves the food wrapped on his desk, away from the vials of poison. In the morning, she sits on his bed next to him as he unwraps the package his mother had sent him, revealing a set of armor his father had commissioned for him. Hilda whines until he finally agrees to try it on. She waits in her room, kicking at the bed frame until he finally makes his way down the hallway.  
It looks good on him. It’s foreign, definitely- rather than the thick plates seen on Fódlan’s knights, Claude’s new armor is made of wyvern scales overlapping each other, lighter and more flexible than chainmail while providing better protection- but it seems to suit him better than the stiff armor he normally wears. Unlike hers, which is simply grey steel, his is dyed in gold, red, and black, which Claude informs her are the colors of the royal family’s seal. The collar frames his face wonderfully and the front dips low enough to show off his collarbones, hinting at the muscles on his chest. The style is distinctive, and along with Fida will make him stand out on the battlefield.  
He tugs on it, retying the sash so it sits a little higher on his waist.  
“I’m not sure this is the right image shift.”  
“I mean, you look great in it.”  
“It’s going to draw attention.”  
She puts a hand on his shoulder and cocks her hip, looking at their reflection in the mirror. “A general needs to be seen on the battlefield.”  
His mouth twists slightly. “Still. I’m supposed to be uniting Fódlan, and this is Almyran fashion.”  
“Well, people are stupid and probably won’t know that. Plus, you look hot, so who cares?”  
He laughs a bit, a little sadly. “Lorenz still thinks I’m from Fódlan, despite all the hints I’ve been dropping. I’m not sure how to break it to him.”  
Hilda snorts, then slaps Claude on the shoulder when she has an idea. “Claude!”  
The wariness in his eyes is not enough to discourage her.  
“Just don’t tell him. Go home, get crowned, then show up at his door as the king of Almyra.”  
“That’s… either a terrible or an absolutely fantastic idea.” She can see the wheels turning behind his eyes as he considers all the pieces. “It might be hard to explain why I have to leave in the first place, but…”  
“It would be fucking hilarious.”  
“It _would_ be fucking hilarious.”  
He shifts the straps crossing his chest, adjusting them to fit his frame better. For a minute he looks uncertain, staring in the mirror like a child trying on his father’s clothes and realizing they’re never going to fit. She leans on his shoulder, meeting his eyes in the mirror.  
“Claude. You’re going to make him proud.”  
-

Claude is right: he stands out starkly against the gray steel of the battlefield, and Hilda is eternally grateful for the constant presence of Fida’s white wings against the gray sky, because the battle is complete chaos. The mysterious army is in fact headed by Dimitri, who looks like he might as well be a ghost; he ignores Claude’s brief attempt to negotiate in favor of rushing the Alliance troops while Edelgard’s forces move to attack his from behind. Hilda is directed towards the Kingdom forces by Byleth with Leonie and Raphael as the other Golden Deer head for the center ballista, Claude flying overhead and trying to keep their troops in line. Amidst the distant fighting she sees Dimitri, tearing through anyone in front of him without discretion, Sylvain leading a battalion that follows in the wake of destruction. As she pushes forward cutting through Kingdom troops, she is almost blown back by the explosion of the ballista. Claude is screaming orders from above as the hill goes up in flames, Imperial and Alliance soldiers alike caught in the inferno. The confusion allows the Imperial army to attack the back lines as the Kingdom forces struggle to maintain order. Hilda finds herself suddenly in the vicinity of Dimitri.  
He marches towards her, arrows notched into the armor on his shoulders. Even from here she recognizes the gold and black fletching as Claude’s. Tightening her grip on Freikugel, she steps forward, hoping to block his assault.  
“Dimitri! Listen-”  
“Out of my way,” he growls, and before she can even raise her axe his lance is streaking towards her, sinking into her thigh between the joints of her armor. He’s tearing it out even as she’s collapsing, pushing her aside to run towards Edelgard’s position far from the front lines. He roars in rage as he charges, his lance twirling in his hands as he takes down each soldier in his way. Edelgard calls an order over the clamor and swirls of dark magic surround him, slamming into his body from all sides. With each hit he staggers but continues forward; by the end of the assault he’s only holding himself up by his lance. Dimitri attempts to take another step but falls, landing face first in the mud.  
To her right, Sylvain manages to assemble a battalion of the scattering Kingdom forces and surges forward, shouting about the honor of Faerghus. He makes it thirty feet before an Imperial solider steps in front of him; she falls instantly under the hooves but her lance finds a chink in the horse’s armor, piercing through the animal’s sternum. A fireball lands on the battalion behind him and Sylvain is surrounded by Imperials, who converge on him in an instant. The Lance of Ruin flashes gold in his hand, but the troops swarm him, pulling him from his horse, the remaining Kingdom cavalry rushing over the lot of them. Hilda drags herself away from the pile, the pounding of hooves shaking the ground, before she is pulled up by the back of her armor. Hilda scrabbles for purchase on the saddle as Leonie strains to lift her on the back of the horse, dumping her on the rear behind her.  
“Hang on!”  
Hilda clings to the saddle as Leonie gallops around skirmishes, looking for a healer. When they’re within range Marianne sends a healing spell her way, enough to stop the bleeding and give Hilda the confidence to slide off the horse again. Looking around the battlefield, it’s clear that Dimitri is dead: the Kingdom lines are completely shattered. Some are surrendering to anyone who will listen, whether Imperial or Alliance, though the better choice now seems to be the latter. The Imperial Army has been pushed nearly into the woods and as Hilda watches Fida flies behind the lines, arrows flying from her back as Claude beelines towards Edelgard. Hilda takes out the remaining soldiers in her area that refuse to back down, limping as she makes her way through. Soon the horns sound, marking Edelgard’s retreat; Seteth flies overhead, calling for the Kingdom soldiers to surrender. The remining forces collapse, as does Hilda.  
-

She wakes up on the ground, laid side by side with other injured troops. Healers scurry through the rows, patching up everyone as best they can. As Hilda sits up and takes in her surroundings, she realizes that a number of the people beside her are also Kingdom soldiers.  
Her attention is then grabbed by a commotion as someone limps by, thrusting their sword at anyone who comes near. The healers back off as Claude strides up, still in his bloody armor, his boots clanking as he approaches. Felix is holding his side, breathing heavily as he holds out his sword with one hand.  
“I’m surprised you’re here,” Claude says conversationally. “I didn’t think you’d follow him into battle.”  
“I didn’t fight for him,” Felix snaps. “Sylvain asked me.”  
“I suppose this farce was Dimitri’s decision,” Claude replies, disdain leaking into his voice.  
“You have no idea what he’d become.”  
“I dare say I do. I fought with him, when Edelgard attacked Garreg Mach. I saw what he did on that battlefield. And I saw what he did here.”  
Felix says nothing,  
“Put the sword down, Felix. This isn’t worth dying for.”  
A scoff. “Like you would know. You don’t even have a cause.”  
Watching Claude’s face, Hilda sees no hint of acknowledgement. “It’s a waste for us to be fighting in the first place. I told Dimitri as much.”  
“He was a beast. You thought he would listen?”  
“I hoped he would.”  
“Well, I’m not joining you. I’m sticking with Sylvain.”  
“Sylvain is dead, Felix,” Hilda says quietly from her spot on the ground. “I saw him fall.”  
His eyes swivel to her and she watches the shock and fear cross his face, his mouth slack with it. Then he is turning, his sword slicing up towards Claude’s head. Claude steps back in alarm but his sword is out in a second as he dodges Felix’s wild attacks. Both blades glow as Claude’s sword takes power from his crest, making Felix’s already pale face turn deathly white. Claude is calling for him to stop as Felix is pushing forward, gritting his teeth as the wound in his side splits and spills blood down his leg. The flat of Felix’s blade hits Claude’s side and then turns, slitting the skin just above the hip. Claude cries out and twists his own sword upwards, stabbing Felix in the opposite side of his wound. Blood spurts from Felix’s mouth as he falls on the blade and it splatters on Claude’s face as he says something Hilda can’t hear from where she’s sitting. The sword withdraws and Felix crumples to the ground without it holding him up. Claude stands motionless for a second, breathing hard as he stares at the body at his feet.  
Eventually he wipes his sword and sheathes it.  
Hilda watches as he starts talking to the healers, telling them to keep the body separate from the others so it can be sent back to his father. He instructs them to search for a tall redhead about the same age, most likely dead as well. They agree and start off. Claude crouches next to Hilda where she’s sitting.  
“Are you ok, Hilda?” There’s no inflection to his voice, the question coming out flat.  
She takes him in, her eyes catching on the spots of blood on his face, the stains on the wrists and shoes of his armor, the slowly dripping slice on his side. Underneath the blood, his face is blank. “I guess. Marianne patched me up well, but I still need to rest. You should ask her about that wound.”  
He hums thoughtfully. “Marianne has been invaluable, but I’m sure she’s busy. It’s shallow, it can wait.”  
“Don’t wait too long.”  
He nods in agreement, and they sink into silence briefly.  
“Maybe we can start talking to Lord Rodrigue, now that this is over,” Claude says calmly. “He might join us to avenge them.”  
“I guess you won’t mention that you killed his son then,” Hilda snaps, anger suddenly boiling up. How can he sit there, so calm and calculating, when they’d just killed their peers and friends?  
Claude stares at her, his eyes sharp and cold. “No. I need every advantage I can get. And honestly, I doubt he’ll even ask.” When she only responds with a glare, he stands abruptly and walks off, weaving through the wounded on the ground.  
Hilda lays back down, and stares at the sky, empty and gray.  
-

(She avoids him for the next week, ducking out of the war room as soon as he enters and dodging him around the monastery. It’s not hard; their position is still fragile, so Claude is working overtime. She realizes she hasn’t seen him in the dining hall all week, and that the light under his door hasn’t gone out since they marched to Gronder. She tells Byleth about it, struggling to keep her voice level. The answer isn’t what she wants to hear.  
They’d all killed at Gronder, and they would have to use those deaths if they were to beat the Empire. Dimitri hadn’t listened, and his choices had brought them to fight. Running into more of their former comrades on the battlefield was inevitable if they continued.  
She tells Hilda that she doesn’t have to keep fighting, that Claude wouldn’t hold it against her, and that she’d even tell him so Hilda didn’t have to face him.  
“But, I promised him. And all of you. Until the bitter end.”  
Byleth nods solemnly. “Until the end.”  
The next day, Hilda drags Claude to dinner and, as she expected, he confesses he’s barely eaten since the battle. She scolds him and then reminds him that this is the most effort she’s ever put into a friendship.  
“I know, and I can’t thank you enough for that. I’m lucky to have you by my side, Hilda.”  
“Damn right you are.”  
He laughs, throwing his head back, and she smiles despite everything.)  
-

Hilda is once again proud that her idea has become the basis of their strategy, but she’s also extremely worried that her idea has become the basis of their strategy. It’s not very specific, for one thing, and it leaves them dangerously exposed if the ruse fails. She’s also somewhat terrified of whatever scheme Claude is attempting to devise as he leaves Garreg Mach, returning every few days with a frown on his face.  
She asks Byleth what they should do to refine the plan.  
“We could dress Claude up as a woman,” Byleth suggests.  
“Claude, dressed as a woman? I don't understand what the point of that would be.”  
“Oh,” Byleth says, looking uncomfortable, “I thought it was amusing.”  
“You were… joking?”  
Byleth nods, though her expression is still pinched in discomfort.  
“I… I don’t think I’ve ever heard you joke before.” She joins in on it, if only to get that expression off Byleth’s face. “Hmm… I bet we could find a good dress for him, but he’s rather attached to his sideburns…”  
Byleth smiles. “Maybe we could shave them in his sleep.”  
“I’m pretty sure he would kill us.”  
-

(“You did say the plan needed a little more refinement. Are you going to dress up like Edelgard, Claude?”  
Claude looks confused and a little disdainful. “I’m not sure that would accomplish much.”  
Hilda catches Byleth’s eye. Byleth shakes her head somberly, like Claude will never understand.)  
-

Their troops are nervous, lined up outside of the fort. From here it appears impossibly large, a squat, imposing complex bristling with archers and mages on the tops of the walls. Inside will surely be worse. The anticipation is rolling through the army like a tidal wave, and the banners shake either from the wind or the fear. They’re beginning their approach, Byleth directing the army from the back lines for now without Claude to echo her. The fake attack and the disguises are working so far; they are being directed through the gates, the army trickling through to the fort’s interior.  
It’s once they get in that the plan changes. The Death Knight takes no time in ordering his forces to kill them; their troops, however, are already in battle formation. Hilda is watching the front lines push forward, standing next to Byleth, when Claude appears on the far side of the fort. Fida’s wings beat the air for a moment before she lands, dropping him off.  
She hears Byleth’s gasp of fear. “What is he doing…”  
Immediately she directs three battalions on the right forward, urging them to push towards Claude. They begin their assault, marching on the Imperial forces. Hilda feels the bile rising in her throat as she presses forward, Freikugel tight in her hands.  
Suddenly Byleth is reorganizing their lines, shifting them all left. To her right, Hilda sees the clouds of dust kicked up by horse hooves. Claude flies overhead, calling orders from Fida as he heads the oncoming calvary. Hilda recognizes the green banners of Almyra, the horse outlined in white whipping in the wind as the wyverns soar over the walls of the fort.  
Byleth easily includes the Almyran forces into her calculations. Taking the fort is difficult, but with their allies and Byleth’s tactics, it’s theirs.  
The celebration lasts all of a minute. Despite everything, Hilda actually hasn’t thought much about dying. The light streaking out of the sky changes that. The fort explodes into rock and dust, their troops being thrown left and right as the stone walls collapse. She scrambles to get away from the growing hole in the ground, watching people next to her fall behind and find the dirt shifting underneath them. She’s sprinting harder than she ever has, her heart pounding in her throat, rushing towards the retreating army. Wyvern riders fly overhead, trying to grab soldiers before the sinkhole catches up to them. The sound of horses’ hooves pounds in her ears along with her heartbeat as the cavalry attempt to rescue people behind her. She reaches the ridge outside the fort, turning to watch the smoldering remains of their prize.  
-

When they gather after the battle, Claude seems hardly shaken by the massive spears of light raining from the sky. He brushes off the issue of Nardel, revealed as Nader, easily, ploughing over Lorenz’s protests. Hilda is shocked to hear he’d contacted her brother, but less shocked to hear Holst had ended up drinking with his greatest enemy. Claude talks of a new dawn, his eyes straying to Byleth as he does.  
Lorenz tries to complain, but Judith’s heel on his toes shuts him up.  
-

It takes her a few days to get over the shock of Fort Merceus’ destruction. It takes her a bit longer to get over Claude’s scheme.  
“I just don’t get it,” Hilda says, pacing back and forth in her room. “Why couldn’t he just ask me? I even offered.”  
Byleth sighs from her spot on Hilda’s bed. “I’m not sure. Maybe he didn’t want you to be mixed up in it.”  
“Mixed up in it?! Like I’m not already fighting his war?”  
“True, but this is big, Hilda. It’s basically admitting where he’s from.”  
Hilda throws up her hands in frustration. “So! What does that have to do with not asking for help?”  
“What if your brother had said no? Claude would have probably lost credibility in the Alliance and the support of the lords. Maybe even his title. If you had vouched for him, it could have caused a rift between you and your brother.”  
“What?! That seems extreme.”  
Byleth makes a face. “It is,” she says sourly, “but it’s true. Nader already left, since he was worried about our troops mingling.”  
“Seriously?”  
“It wouldn’t be good to see fights starting amongst the troops.”  
“But they’re on our side! They came to our aid!”  
“And they’re also from Almyra.”  
Hilda nearly screams at her for being so calm. “That doesn’t matter!”  
“It does to a lot of people.”  
“Well, that’s bullshit.”  
“Yes,” says Byleth dryly, “racism is bad.”  
“Ok, don’t say it like that. I just… he didn’t even tell you!”  
“He did not.”  
“What’s up with that? Not telling your master tactician what reinforcements you’re bringing?!”  
Byleth frowns. “He told me there was more to the plan, but no specifics. I know he was worried about spies...”  
“Like you’re going to be a spy.”  
“It’s possible he didn’t want to promise anything, in case Nader had said no.”  
“You think he was worried about meeting your expectations?”  
Byleth raises an eyebrow, making Hilda shift uncomfortably. She thinks too often about their conversation about disappointing others, despite the fact that it had been weeks ago. They stay in silence for a moment, Byleth picking at threads on the covers while Hilda toys with the jewelry on her desk.  
“Do you expect him to be open with you?” Byleth asks calmly.  
“No, of course not. He’s not open with anyone.”  
“So why does this bother you so much?”  
“I’m… not sure. I think it’s like what you said, when we had tea. I could help, if he’d let me.”  
“You’d want to help him?”  
“Of course! I’d do anything for dear old Claude.”  
“Sounds like you’ve become a dangerously diligent friend, Hilda,” Byleth says, smiling softly.  
“Oh, no. Oh, no, I have, haven’t I? Oh, he’s going to expect so much of me…”  
“I think he understands.”  
Whatever else Byleth says is lost to the minor meltdown Hilda’s having. She’s become _dependable_.  
-

Their victory at Fort Merceus, while not actually giving them control of the fort, bolsters the energy of the entire army. Even as whispers of Claude’s shifty nature and suspicions of his origins race around the monastery, their troops speak highly of his craftiness and Byleth’s brilliance. Enbarr had once seemed like a far off dream, one they had no hope of reaching; now they’re marching out at the end of the month. Despite being forced to retreat to Garreg Mach, the combined forces under the Crest of Flames now controls the Great Bridge of Myrddin, Gronder Field, and the area around the ruined fort, giving them a firm foothold in the Empire. With trade from the east entirely cut off and the great breadbasket of the south captured, the Imperial Army was sure to be feeling the strain of diminishing supplies.  
Claude’s plan to capture Enbarr is multifold: their main forces housed at Garreg Mach would march to the capital quickly, while auxiliary forces sent ahead would distract reinforcements and disrupt supply lines. Soldiers from the Church would be sent west along the mountains and then north to Fhirdiad to meet up with the combined forces of Houses Fraldarius and Gautier. Lord Rodrigue hoped to organize the rebelling houses across the Kingdom. Without support from the prominent General Gwendal and theoretically cut off from Imperial reinforcements, Cornelia’s position in the capital would be weak enough to allow its recapture. Nader and the Alymran cavalry would return to Alliance territory, protecting the supply lines and preventing a backdoor invasion from the Empire.  
Their numbers were growing, thanks to their recent victories, but they would not be able to wage a war at the scale they needed to for more than a few months. Claude was also concerned about the potential of infighting reemerging amongst Alliance lords, all of whom wished to claim a position of prominence in the new Fódlan. He was especially wary of Count Gloucester, who had remained quiet since their capture of the bridge but wasn’t likely to stay so for long, now that Claude had played his hand with the Almyran cavalry.  
Regardless of their precarious position, Claude keeps his head high, the confidence rolling off of him so strongly it permeates the whole army. It’s not hard for Hilda to guess the source of that confidence; every time he’s with Byleth, he’s staring like she’s the future.  
-  
(She tries to hype herself by yelling. Byleth is utterly confused, but gamely suggests she talk to Raphael and Flayn for tips.)  
-

Lorenz is lecturing her on the weapon maintenance while they wait for Claude. She’s ignoring him, as she usually does. They’d started meeting in Claude’s room to discuss supply lines after they’d been ‘caught’ in the cardinal’s room by Seteth, who had attempted to force himself into the conversation with as much subtlety as a wyvern crashing throw a window. Hilda is still amazed Claude hasn’t snapped and punched him yet; she certainly would have, with Seteth’s archaic political ideas and slightly creepy obsession with Byleth. Claude hasn’t, though, hasn’t even really argued with him, remaining calm in every one of their interactions. Hilda just accepts that she wasn’t really built for politics like Claude seems to be.  
She is, however, excellent at delegation. She and Lorenz had been working overtime this month, since they’d needed to stretch their supply lines through unstable territory to reach Enbarr; Hilda was quite proud of their work and ready to present their successes to Claude.  
She was not prepared for him to barge into the room, slam the door shut, and throw himself face first on the bed.  
“Claude?”  
“This is most unbecoming, Claude, I really-”  
They’re interrupted by him groaning and rolling over, his hands on his face.  
“She’s just… she’s amazing!”  
“Seriously, you’re still on about this?”  
“What’s this about, someone has caught your fancy?”  
“Oh, Lorenz, he’s super into Byleth.”  
“Oh, really? Well, I suppose it would it would be an even match.”  
Hilda smiles. They’ve come so far from nefarious seduction plans.  
Claude flaps a hand at them. “Listen, listen, we were at tea and she was just radiant and laughing and-”  
“How long has this been happening?”  
“Oh, well, it started when we were still at school but it’s gotten really bad since we all reunited and such.”  
“Oh?”  
“She was just staring at my face for, I don’t know, it felt like no time at all, it was just perfect, I-”  
“Yeah, I’ve been trying to push him to do something about it but he hasn’t budged.”  
“Why don’t you just woo her, Claude? Even you must have some charm stored away in there.”  
Claude groans again, his fingers splaying over his face. “I don’t know how to do that, I’ve never been with anyone.”  
“Truly? But you’re not… unpopular.”  
“Never? Not even a single date? Or a one time thing? Even just getting someone into bed?” He shakes his head against the pillow in response to all her questions.  
“Seriously, Claude? Nobody?”  
“The only person I’ve been with is you, Hilda.”  
“Me?!”  
“You two have had relations?” Lorenz sounds absolutely scandalized, but Hilda is focused on Claude, who has turned red under his hands.  
“I don’t want to ruin this,” Claude mumbles.  
“That would be hard if she’s staring at your face all the time.”  
Lorenz gives her a side glance that suggests there will be a horribly uncomfortable conversation in her future, but he moves with her. Apparently tormenting Claude is more important than scolding her right now. “Yes, it seems as though the interest is mutual.”  
“Honestly, you should just kiss her.”  
Claude makes a strangled noise. She and Lorenz exchange unimpressed glances.  
“Pathetic. You expect to lead us to victory as we march on the Imperial capital, and you refuse to even pursue your lady.”  
That makes Claude sit up, glaring at Lorenz. “You haven’t made any moves either, Lorenz.” Lorenz goes pink, clamming up immediately.  
“Ok, that aside! Lorenz, you will tell me details, soon. Claude, you should just kiss her.”  
The two men glare at her, matching blushes on their faces. She gives her brightest, most innocent smile.  
“Remember, Hilda knows best!”  
-

Three days later, Claude sweeps into her room, lifting her straight off the ground and spinning her in a circle. He’s breathless when he puts her down, stumbling over his words in excitement.  
“I asked her if my face was that interesting, she said yes and I just got up and kissed her.”  
She pats him on the cheek, his grin curved underneath her hand. This smile is something to behold, open and wide, nothing behind it but joy.  
“See what happens when you listen to me?”  
-

(She’s shocked that he had moved so quickly at first, as she presses him for more and more details. His confidence is great, but at the end of it all Claude is brutally practical and fully aware of his limitations, even if he loves taking gambles. She’d thought Byleth was interested, but the risk was still high, considering their positions. But when he speaks about not wanting to wait, it’s suddenly obvious. Still, neither of them mentions the fact that they march on Enbarr in less than a week, that Claude’s time in Fódlan is running out, and that they have no idea if they’ll live to see the future, even as the thought of it all looms over them like a blade.)  
-

Their forces are split, troops moving throughout Imperial territory to distract the enemy, heading north to aid the rebellious lords of the Kingdom, falling back to protect their borders. The main force marches across the rich fields of the Empire to Enbarr, storming through the streets. They push forward quickly, not wanting the Imperial troops to get in any sort of formation. Soon the city is filled with Imperial troops rushing forward to clash with their own, of magic raining down, of the screams and yells of people panicking and dying. As she runs down the cobblestones, another noise cuts through the air, the shrill crying of a baby. Hilda freezes, and turns to see a woman cowering in an alley, a bundle clutched to her chest.  
Edelgard hadn’t evacuated the city.  
For a moment, there is nothing but roaring rage in her ears, nothing but pure fury. Then the sky darkens as wyverns fly overheard, swooping down into the houses to carry civilians to safety. One lands heavily on the roof next to her, claws going straight through the thatch, and the woman screams in fear. Hilda spares her one more glance before she’s sprinting forward again, back into formation.  
-

First Dorothea, then Petra, and lastly Hubert. The remaining defenses at the palace gates are torn apart by their forces, Byelth’s strategies cutting off every chance to escape. Fida’s wings pound the earth, and as Claude slides off her to enter the palace, Byleth instantly by his side. Lorenz relays orders as he stations himself in front of the door, and Hilda slides into position with his command.  
Barely a minute later, she hears Claude yelling over the clamor even though she’s unable to see the front of the palace from where she is preventing reinforcements from getting up the stairs. Fida circles and lands, knocking over the soldiers rushing the doors; Claude is on her and in the air in the next second, screaming above the battlefield.  
“The Emperor is dead!”  
Even the Imperial troops surrounding her turn to look as Claude repeats himself, dipping low so he can be heard amidst the noise. As he swoops overhead, she can see the shape he’s holding up more clearly.  
White hair flows in the wind, the gold helmet glints in the sun, and blood drips down Claude’s arm as he carries Edelgard’s head over the fighting. Surrender follows in his wake, some Imperial troops dropping their weapons in shock when they see what is above them. Shouts cross the battlefield, the mixed forces of the Alliance and the Church echoing the news as the Imperial generals try to reorganize their troops. Confusion reigns for the next few minutes and then the Crest of Flames is rising above the palace gates, their troops cheering as the Imperials lay down their arms. The city is then a mess of soldiers bustling around, civilians poking their heads out now that the fighting was over. Hilda helps carry the wounded to the center courtyard, dodging the healers as she hurries back and forth. It takes hours for the city to calm down enough for a celebration. Their troops gather in one of the palace’s inner courtyards, using a side entrance to avoid the throne room. Claude gives a speech from his perch on a table, thanking them for their efforts and support.  
He lifts his glass in a toast. “To a new Fódlan!”  
His call is repeated by thousands of voices.  
“A new Fódlan!”  
-

By the end of the night Claude has interrogated most of the living Imperial generals, hunting for any information about the threat in Hubert’s letter. He sends pieces of Edelgard’s jewelry and armor with his messengers, giving them proof of her defeat to show the generals across the Empire. All of them fly off together, hoping to reach the remaining battlefields by dawn, before more fighting can break out. Eventually he breaks off from his advisors, slumping on the ground in a corner. Hilda walks over, trying to piece together something comforting. What comes out is completely different.  
“Did you have to cut off her head?” He’s still in his armor, the blood dried on his forearms.  
Claude doesn’t look at her, staring blankly at the floor. “It ended the fighting faster than my words would have.”  
“But you knew her. She was your friend, even.”  
“So?”  
“So, it matters that you killed her!”  
“I’ve killed a lot of people.”  
“She was different, though.”  
“Why? Just because I knew her name?”  
She doesn’t have an answer to that.  
“I told her I didn’t want to kill her. She asked Byleth to cut her down.”  
“Where is the Professor?”  
“I don’t know. She went somewhere after we talked to Rhea.”  
“What is happening, Claude? What was Hubert talking about?”  
“I’m not entirely sure yet. But even as she was involved with it, Edelgard was trying to fight it.”  
“And now we’re going to?”  
“I promised her that I’d finish the job.”  
“So that’s a yes.”  
He gives her a tired glance. “The war’s not over just yet, Hilda.”  
-

They debrief the next day, Claude explaining the situation as best he can. Hilda suppresses a flinch when she sees where the fort is, buried deep in Goneril territory. Even after tearing down the Empire, no one says anything about backing out.  
(She’s surprised, after, when she realizes that the thought never even crossed her mind.)  
-

They regroup at the monastery, reports flooding in of the surrender of Imperial troops. Claude paces back and forth in agitation as they prepare to march on Shambhala, but he keeps up appearances, remaining collected in the war room, treating Rhea with respect. Without much knowledge about their new enemy, the group seems on edge, but the relief of defeating the Empire still sweeps through the troops.  
Even with all the commotion, Lorenz seems hung up on their conversation from a month ago. Eventually, his glances increase in frequency to the point that Hilda admits she has to talk to him and resigns herself to be subject to a truly awful conversation. So she allows him to corner her in her room, listening to his lecture about her “vivacious attitude” and “indulgent flirting” in silence until he eventually runs out of steam.  
“Are you done?”  
He flops into the chair at her desk. “Yes, yes, I believe so. Just… Claude? Really?”  
She shifts uncomfortably. “It’s not important.”  
“I dare say it is, but ultimately, it’s none of my business.”  
“That’s right. But what is my business is whoever you’re not making a move towards.” He looks so desperately unhappy at the prospect of having to answer that she considers letting him off the hook for a second, but then he mumbles something in reply.  
“What? You need to speak up, Lorenz.”  
“…Lysithea.”  
Whatever crosses Hilda’s face then causes Lorenz to immediately stand up and begin to leave.  
“No, no, I didn’t- Lorenz, come back.”  
It is with great reluctance that Lorenz sits back down, and Hilda notices he sits tensely, like he’s ready to bolt.  
“So. Lysithea.”  
He glares at her, but answers. “…yes. She’s sweet, under the snappy exterior, and exceptionally kind. She’s intelligent and poised, often well spoken, driven and hard working. She is an invaluable… friend.”  
Hilda scoffs, the noise making Lorenz turn red.  
“I want to see the future with her,” he continues more quietly. “I wish to protect her.”  
“She could tear you to pieces.”  
“I know that! That does not change the sentiment, however.”  
She nods along, accepting his words.  
“Wait, why did you tell Claude about this? He is not the one to ask relationship advice from.”  
To her surprise, Lorenz’s face twists in anger. “I did not tell him, he broke into my room and read my entire poetry collection!” He punctuates the end of his sentences by crossing his arms in a huff.  
Hilda stares for a second before she starts laughing, making him look even more offended.  
“It’s not amusing!”  
“He read your poetry collection? And then told you about it?”  
“Yes, it was deeply invasive and, quite frankly, bizarre!”  
“You have a poetry collection? Of poems about Lysithea?”  
Lorenz is sinking into his chair like he’ll melt through the floor and out of the room if he pushes hard enough.  
“…I do.”  
She allows herself to laugh for another minute before calming down enough to help him formulate a plan, one involving a picnic, specialty pastries she promises to get for him, and his favorite poem about Lysithea. It’s not something she would go for, but if Lysithea had any interest in Lorenz, it would probably work.  
When they finish hashing out the details, he asks her if she’s seen how confident Marianne has been recently, and how it’s made her smile more enchanting. His tone is too casual, the question asked too lightly, for it to be something he’d thought of on the spot. She curses Claude in her mind as she stammers through a noncommittal response, but it clearly doesn’t throw Lorenz off.  
They wind up making a plan for her, too, one that involves a ride around the hills, a handmade broach, and a sunset view. She vows that she’ll never do it, but she starts designing the broach the instant he leaves the room.  
-  
(She asks Claude a few days later why he’d broken into Lorenz’s room. He shrugs and says he’d been bored. She asks if any of Lorenz’s poetry was good. Claude just shrugs again.  
“The only rhyme he found for Lysithea was forsythia. He used that… often.”  
“Oh no. I might have made a mistake.”)  
-

In the next week, they prepare for their march. Over ledgers of purchases and maps of supply lines, Lorenz shares his poetry with her, and she shares her broach design. They snipe at each other and complain about the lack of a break, talking over the fact that their troops are spread too thin, that their supplies are dwindling, that the enemy could destroy the monastery if they so pleased. When they do march out, she’s still ribbing Lorenz about his frail rhymes, ignoring the fact that Rhea is sitting in the cart next to her, the expression on her face unfathomable.  
-

They cut through the strange underground space only to watch the earth above them shatter. The streaks of light coming down above her make her knees weak, and she nearly drops Freikugel in her haste to get away, remembering the shuddering of ground under her feet and heat behind her. She feels the explosions before she hears them, being thrown to the ground with the troops around her as the cavern collapses. Turning, she catches the last glimpse of shimmering white scales and monstrous claws before light fills the space, obscuring everything.  
Rhea’s body feels incredibly light in her arms, as if she is nothing more than an empty husk. Marianne’s slender hands, now stained with blood, dance over the ripped clothes and torn skin, twisting into patterns that stitch Rhea’s wounds closed. When Hilda looks to Marianne, she expects to see the familiar fear and uncertainty there; instead she’s met with steady concentration and a smooth face free of any insecurity. Even with Rhea’s body in her arms, Hilda is mesmerized as the sparks of spells and the glowing lights in the broken fortress light up that soft face. She watches Rhea’s breathing steady in Marianne’s expression, sees broken bones heal in the curve of Marianne’s fingers, understands Rhea’s conditions through the familiar spell work and the gentle smile. After Marianne deems Rhea to be stable, she slumps against Hilda on the ground, exhausted. Here in the dark, shoulders pressed together, victory at hand, their hands find each other.  
-

Their victory doesn’t last. It never seems to.  
A knight brings the news that Lord Holst is gravely wounded days after it happens, days during which he might have already died. There is a chasm in Hilda’s chest, one that won’t be filled until she sees Holst, until these monsters are crushed under her axe.  
-

A poison swamp is a better battlefield than an underground fortress, or a burning field of lava, or the largest bridge in Fódlan, or a city still teeming with residents. Things could be worse, Hilda thinks, watching her friends move painfully slow through the thick mud. Much worse, she thinks, as the ghost of her ancestor comes bearing down on her with the shadow of the axe she holds in her hands. As she fights her way through the swamp, she hears Fida’s screech, watches the shadow of wings tilt and another shape come plummeting towards the ground.  
Moving forward is pure instinct; she’s sprinting before thinking about it, as if she could catch him somehow despite being much too far away. The shadows on the ground shift again and Fida circles around, her wing curving under her rider and slowing his fall. Claude hits the ground running, Failnaught already in his hands, Byleth appearing on his right. Fida swoops low and skids awkwardly into the ground, one wing twisted. Byleth charges towards the laughing shadow of Nemesis, Claude hanging back to cover her with his bow.  
Hilda doesn’t think Claude’s speech will work, because Claude’s speech is almost too cheesy. It does seem to get on Nemesis’ nerves, however, as the ghost looks up at Claude with rage in his face even as Byleth attacks him with the Sword of the Creator. When Claude charges him, Nemesis is angered enough to attack, the black blade wrapping around Claude’s middle and whipping him towards the ground. Hilda nearly screams as he lays there, struggling to lift his head to watch the fight. She’s still moving forward, Freikugel in her hands, as the last arrow Claude had shot suddenly appears, burying itself in Nemesis’ arm. Byleth sees her chance immediately, slashing through the ghost’s chest. As Nemesis falls, so does his army, the soldiers crumbling into ash. The colorless Crest of Flames is replaced by the golden one, their troops cheering as Byleth sheathes her sword. Claude staggers to his feet and approaches her, taking her hand.  
Then he throws up on her shoes.  
Next he’s collapsing into her arms, Byleth catching him on her shoulder and getting a hand around his waist. She’s calling for help even as magic leaks from her hands. Hilda rushes forward to take Claude’s other side, leaving him dangerously lopsided due to their height difference, but the two of them manage to drag him off the battlefield towards where Marianne is waving at them. They lay him on a wooden plank balanced on some rocks, off the swampy ground. Claude has his eyes closed, but he’s wheezing like he’s being choked, his whole chest rising shakily with each breath. The links of Nemesis’ sword are stamped into his armor, leaving burn marks across the colorful scales. Marianne orders them to strip him so Byleth starts on the top buckles, leaving Hilda to pull the armor aside. Already bruises are blooming across his ribs and there are patches of bleeding from where the pressure broke his skin. Marianne begins running her hands all over, feeling his ribs and stomach.  
“I need a dagger.”  
Hearing Marianne’s voice so commanding is surprising enough that Hilda doesn’t respond. Byleth slaps a dagger into Marianne’s waiting hand.  
“Hold him down.”  
Byleth’s hands are on Claude’s shoulders when Marianne plunges the dagger into his side. Hilda screams in shock but Claude is suddenly breathing heavily, like weight has been lifted off his chest.  
“I’m sorry, Claude,” Marianne half-whispers to him. “Your lung was collapsing.”  
“Is he going to be ok?”  
Marianne’s voice lifts as she injects confidence into it. “Yes. Several of his ribs are broken, but there’s nothing too serious now. Goddess willing, he will be fine soon.”  
Byleth breathes deeply, one hand moving from Claude’s shoulder to his heart. He doesn’t react, seemingly passed out from the pain.  
“Thank you, Marianne.” Byleth’s voice is steady when she responds, but Hilda can see her hands shaking.  
-

They find victory under the Crest of Flames yet again, watching the ash crumble into the poison swamp. Hilda takes Marianne’s hand and hopes, _prays_ , that this one can last.  
-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a great many feelings about the war... I hope you enjoy this chapter! Next one needs a bit more writing, but I hope to put it up in a week or two.  
> Some dialogue was taken from the game script- I don't own it and don't claim it, but just wanted to use it to set the scenes and the tones of conversations. There are some from the pre/post battle dialogues, some from dialogue when exploring the monastery, and references to Hilda/Byleth's and Hilda/Claude's A Supports


	4. The End, or, A Beginning

Hilda is more annoyed than concerned when she hears someone yelling in the cardinal’s room as she approaches. The door is closed, making it difficult to hear what they’re saying, but she can tell that they’re furious. She waits by the door, shifting the box of papers from hip to hip, waiting for the yelling to stop. She considers coming back later, but there’s supposed to be a meeting in twenty minutes and she was tasked with setting up the maps, so she decides to wait it out. It takes a few minutes, but it eventually quiets down, so she knocks and puts on her brightest smile as the door opens.  
She doesn’t register who it is right away, too busy keeping her voice light.  
“Hi, I’m just trying to drop these off, can I-” She stops, because she’s looked up.  
Claude is staring at her blankly.  
“Hilda?”  
“Claude? Is- is everything ok?”  
He collects himself instantly, plastering a slight smile on his face. “Yes, no problems here. Are these for the meeting? I can take them.”  
Hilda shifts the box away from him. “There were a couple new reports, but should I come back?”  
“Please, come in. I was just leaving,” comes the reply from behind Claude. They both step aside to allow Seteth out of the room. He gives Claude a cold look before nodding to Hilda.  
“Good day.”  
“Bye, Seteth…”  
She pushes past Claude while he’s distracted and busies herself with spreading out the maps. The door shuts with a quiet click, Claude’s footsteps soft on the carpet as he grabs the weights to hold the paper down. She considers scolding him for moving more than he has to, but decides she’d rather not see his anger directed at her. Between the two of them it only takes a few minutes to have everything properly arranged for the meeting, the markers for where Nemesis’s army had marched standing neatly in black rows.  
“Sooooooo… what was that about?”  
Claude heaves a sigh as he carefully lowers himself into his chair. He leans forward on his elbows, face in his hands. It brings back memories, leaving a sour taste in her mouth.  
“I don’t think I’ve actually seen you angry before,” she says conversationally. “You usually just hide it away.”  
“Yeah, well, I just… snapped.”  
“I’m surprised that didn’t happen sooner.”  
He doesn’t move.  
“Will you tell me what it was about?”  
“…Byleth,” Claude answers to the table. “It was about Byleth.”  
“Be more specific,” she prods.  
“The fact that he won’t fucking tell her anything. We just fought the damn King of Liberation and he’s _still_ keeping secrets.”  
“I thought Rhea had told the two of you everything?”  
“It wasn’t enough. Why are the legends so wrong in the first place? Why didn’t Rhea just fix them? Who are Flayn and Seteth, and why is Flayn’s blood important? What does this mean for Byleth? Is she a god? Is she going to-” his voice cracks suddenly “How long is she going to live?”  
“What… what do you mean?”  
“If she’s a god, she could live forever. Watching everyone around her die for millennia. If she isn’t a god… she nearly died when she got her powers. How long will her body last?”  
She sits down next to him. “You think she might die?” she asks quietly.  
“I don’t know,” he says, with so much pain in his voice Hilda has to close her eyes. “I couldn’t- We just saved Fódlan. Can’t he see there’s no point in hiding anything anymore?”  
Hilda doesn’t have a response to that, so she settles for rubbing his back. He allows her to for a minute before straightening up.  
“Alright, let’s pull it together for this meeting… and please, don’t tell the others about this. I haven’t even talked to Byleth yet.”  
“Weren’t you just complaining about people keeping secrets?”  
“ _Hilda_. Just for now, ok?”  
“I was just teasing!”  
-

Hilda had thought the end of the fighting would mean the end of, well, the fighting. Instead, she finds venom in the cardinal’s room of the monastery, as they gather to discuss the aftermath of Nemesis and the future of Fódlan.  
It’s not a fun conversation, Hilda thinks miserably, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. Claude and Seteth have been particularly rude to each other, and the tension is thick.  
“Those Who Slither in the Dark were infidels, enemies of the Church. It is only right they were eliminated,” says Seteth coolly.  
“Well, we don’t actually know what their relationship was like, only what Rhea has told us,” Claude points out. “And it’s been a long time since then. They may have had their reasons.”  
Seteth sputters in offense. “They were involved with child experimentation!”  
“So was Rhea,” says Byleth quietly.  
“Whatever their motives were,” Leonie cuts into the uncomfortable silence, “They killed their way to Garreg Mach. Their army was pretty visible, so we can’t just say it wasn’t there.”  
“She’s right. There’s no way we can avoid telling the truth here,” adds Ignatz.  
Seteth looks annoyed. “We may have to tell them about Nemesis, but what of the Crests? It will destroy our whole system.”  
“Then it should be destroyed,” snaps Lysithea. “Look at what the desire for Crests has done to so many people.”  
Raphael chimes in after her. “Most of us get by just fine without them. Shouldn’t be hard to teach people that they aren’t worth much.”  
“Isn’t it better to hear the whole truth than only part of it?” Byleth asks. Seteth looks cowed by her words, his face twisting in discomfort.  
“Perhaps… perhaps that is correct. But it would be a disservice to throw all of Fódlan into chaos now.”  
“It’s already _in_ chaos. How much worse can this really make it?”  
“But Leonie, surely removing the lifelines of the Church will worsen the situation. If the nobility is to go as well, then we are bordering on anarchy,” counters Lorenz.  
“We could proceed gradually?” Marianne pipes up uncertainly.  
“What was that, Marianne?”  
Marianne sinks back into her chair as everyone turns towards her. Hilda elbows her.  
“Um… I said, we could proceed gradually… maybe start with Nemesis, and talk about Crests once things have settled…”  
“It will reduce the shock,” says Lysithea in agreement.  
“And we don’t have to destroy the Church,” Hilda chimes in. “Only the Crest system.”  
“It will be tough in the Kingdom,” Byleth muses. “Crests are so important there, and not just as a status symbol.”  
“Well, the former Kingdom is no more,” Lorenz says quietly. “Their political structure is changing anyway.”  
“So much of this crap only matters to the nobility,” Leonie snaps. “The people of Fódlan don’t care about Crests, or Those Who Slither in the Dark. They care that they’re safe, that they have food to eat, and that their children will grow up well.”  
“Right! Who cares about Crests! We don’t need ‘em!”  
“Raphael, please,” sighs Ignatz. “You’re very loud.”  
Raphael booms his apologies while Leonie rubs her ears.  
“This is a new Fódlan. One that will walk in the truth, without the trappings of Crests,” says Claude.  
“We have a chance to change things for the better,” agrees Byleth, “And I’m not giving that up.”  
-

Hilda drags Claude to the marketplace as soon as Marianne gives him to ok for light exercise. He’s playfully annoyed, but there’s a lightness to his steps even as he limps through the stalls.  
“What’s your plan?”  
“I wanted to meet her at the Goddess Tower, since it has a history for us. I was thinking about starting with the big news- that I have to leave sooner than I thought, and that she’ll be ruler of Fódlan- then give her the ring. She’s busy the next few days, so it will have to be the day before I leave…”  
Hilda stops dead in her tracks to stare at him incredulously. “You’re going to elope _without her_?!”  
“No!” He flaps his hands at her. “No! I’m going to give her the ring for now, like a- a promise. And when things are calm enough, I’ll ask her to marry me.” His voice turns soft on the last words, making Hilda scoff.  
“And you think she’ll wait?” Hilda asks, more to be annoying than anything. “She’ll be queen of Fódlan, you know. There’ll be a lot of people asking for her hand.”  
“I hope she will. She’s it for me. And I think the same is true for her. Even if I do make her queen.” There’s a tinge of regret in his tone, but Hilda doesn’t comment on it as the reach the stands of jewelry.  
“Are you sure this is the right move?”  
“She’s a capable leader, and she’s well aware of her flaws. With people like Lorenz around, she’ll have help navigating the political landscape. They can fill in where she lacks. She’s charismatic but doesn’t pander, focused and intelligent, well composed. She’ll be fine.”  
“That… wasn’t what I meant. You know this means you can’t marry her, right?”  
“What?” Claude sounds distracted as he looks at the display of rings. “Of course I can.”  
“But you’ll be rulers of two different countries. Either you’ll have to combine them, which seems like an awful lot of work, or you’ll be apart most of the time.”  
“Then we’ll learn to be apart,” Claude says easily. Hilda guesses that nothing she could say would dampen his mood. “Maybe we can split, spend half the year in Almyra and the other half in Fódlan.”  
“Oh? Which half will be for Fódlan?”  
He shudders. “The spring and summer. It’s miserable here in the winter.”  
“Is it that big of a difference?”  
“It doesn’t get nearly as cold in Almyra. And there’s no snow.”  
She hums absentmindedly. “What about this one?” She hands him the ring, a silver band intricately twisted into vines that curl around a green emerald. “It matches your eyes.”  
He frowns at it. “It’s gorgeous, but shouldn’t it match _her_ eyes?”  
“It would remind her of you, while you’re away.”  
“Oh,” he says, a little brokenly. “I guess it would.”  
For a moment he stares at the ring, turning it in the light to watch the gem sparkle. Hilda stares at him, watching his face shift as he decides. His face clears and he smiles, leaning forward to ask the vendor how much its worth and if it came with a box. He puts his arm around Hilda’s shoulders as they leave, murmuring his thanks into her hair.  
-

Hilda is hiding behind a pillar in the abandoned cathedral when Claude and Byleth finally leave the Goddess Tower. She’d respected his wish for a private ‘goodbye,’ but there was no way in the eternal flames that she wasn’t going to try and spy on him.  
To her horror, they’re arguing. Not the sign of a successful promise to return/marriage proposal. She hunches further into the shadows, waiting for them to come close enough for her to hear.  
Claude is gesturing so wildly Byleth actually has to dodge, ducking as he flails a hand right at her face.  
“I didn’t think it would go like this, I know I said transitional government and-”  
“You did spring this on me, Claude.”  
“Yes, well, I think you’re the best choice.”  
“I’m not doing both.”  
“My love,” Hilda holds in a sigh of relief. At least he didn’t completely ruin everything. “You have the chance to change everything in Fódlan-”  
“Yes, I do. And I’d like to start by reducing the influence of the Church in politics, not combining the two. I’m not going to be another Rhea. I can’t believe you said that.”  
“I thought- well, I thought wrong. That was a misstep, I admit it. But what will you do about leadership? Do you really trust anyone else?”  
“Mercedes, maybe.”  
“She’s too devout. She never saw Nemesis, either.”  
“Then Marianne.”  
“Not confident enough.”  
“Seteth.”  
“ _No_.”  
“Fine, I’ll be head of the Church until I can find a suitable replacement.”  
“Fine. Good.”  
“But I can’t stay head of the Church if I am to marry the heathen king of Almyra.”  
“…oh.”  
They’re moving out of earshot now, steps echoing on the stone floor. Hilda stays hidden, just in case. It seems that Claude’s proposal went much better than she had feared.  
“Did you have doubts?”  
“Well, you didn’t actually say yes.” Hilda winces in sympathy at how pathetic he sounds.  
“You didn’t actually ask me.” Hilda regrets her sympathy. Claude is an idiot.  
“Touché. I just didn’t want to give you a chance to say no.”  
Byleth says something in response that Hilda doesn’t catch, the pair too far away now. But as she watches, Byleth rises on her toes to kiss him on the cheek before linking her arm with his.  
-

Claude leaves early the next morning, saying goodbye to them all in turn. He promises to bring back gifts for each of them, writing down everyone’s requests like he’ll actually fulfill them. Hilda strongly doubts she’ll ever receive Almyran jewelry from him, but it’s the thought that counts.  
Somehow Lorenz misses Ignatz asking for a landscape of “the other side of Fódlan’s Locket” and asks, for the umpteenth time, where Claude is going so soon after the war. He only gets a wink in answer. Ignatz awkwardly shakes his hand, Leonie slaps him on the shoulder so hard he stumbles, Raphael nearly crushes him as he lifts Claude clean off the ground in a hug, Lysithea barely even scowls when he playfully pinches her face. Hilda tries not to feel a bit jealous when Marianne shyly gives him a kiss on the cheek. She hopes Marianne feels the same twinge when Claude buries his face in her hair.  
“I’ll miss you.”  
“I’ll miss you too. Don’t worry, I’ll keep Lorenz off the scent.”  
He laughs as he pulls away and turns to the man in question.  
“I’m counting on you, Lorenz!”  
“Ha! As if I could make more of a mess than you already have, Claude.”  
He mounts Fida, who bumps him with her snout. Byleth hands him a pack of supplies and he whispers something to her as he straps it down.  
Turning to the group, he shouts, “I’ll be back before you know it! Nothing can keep me from the Golden Deer!”  
-

True to his word, Claude is back in just under six months, responding to Byleth’s call for reinforcements. Her plea is due to the size of the rebellion; as one of Edelgard’s advisors marched on Derdriu, pockets of discontent nobles had sprung up throughout Fódlan, all looking for a chance to seize power. The difficulty had been further increased by the advisor’s attempts to attack the civilians within the city; since Derdriu had no city wall, it required all of their power to keep its citizens safe. Things were becoming increasingly desperate: they would either have to break ranks and lose the city or be trampled.  
A shout comes from beyond the attacking army and their ranks are scattering, splitting down the middle as someone attacks from behind.  
The new banner of Almyra- green with a white horse rearing, the Crest of Riegan rising above its saddle in gold- joins the Crest of Flames in the air as the Almyran cavalry burst through the back of the rebellious forces. Byleth, true to form, immediately alters her tactics, sending the cavalry to cover the outskirts of the city while her infantry push through the hole they’d made. Fida’s bone white wings slice through the sky, arrows raining down around Byleth as she cuts through to the advisor and brings him down. Their combined forces mop up the rest of the rebellion, making quick work of the broken ranks. Sticking by Byleth’s side proves hard as the Queen surges forward, leaving Hilda and the rest of her vanguard trailing behind.  
Hilda finds Byleth and Claude after the battle by tracking down Fida, whose massive white form stands out amidst the groups of soldiers. Claude has Byleth by the shoulders and is checking her over while she rolls her eyes.  
“I’m fine, Claude. I was more concerned about the civilians.”  
“You shouldn’t be on the front lines, you’re the Queen.”  
“Says the King.”  
“Yeah, but I’m flying. Fida keeps me safe.”  
“And my vanguard keeps _me_ safe.” She smiles at Hilda, who waves. Claude looks back and grabs her by the arm, drawing her into a hug.  
“Hilda! Are you protecting her?”  
“Of course I am!” she punches him on the shoulder, hard enough that he flinches. “What kind of question is that?”  
“Ow, that hurt! I’m just worried, these rebellions aren’t a good sign.”  
“I have a lot of reorganizing to do,” Byleth agrees tiredly.  
“It’s so much work, Claude. Can’t you come back and do it for me?”  
He laughs. “Unfortunately, no. I have enough to deal with at home.”  
“How is everything?”  
“Tumultuous. But nothing I can’t handle.” He winks. Byleth looks unimpressed.  
“I’ll send you troops if you need.”  
“Shouldn’t be necessary, my love, but I’ll let you know.”  
“Well, this is over. If Lorenz is as skilled a negotiated as he thinks he is, then there shouldn’t be any more incidents like this for some time.”  
“That’s a pretty big if,” Hilda points out. “We might be facing trouble for a while yet.”  
“I can’t stay,” Claude says, frustration leaking into his voice as he looks out over the battlefield. “I have maybe two weeks before the court back home starts complaining.”  
“We can handle things ourselves from here.”  
“Good. I have to run off, speak to my generals.” He kisses Byleth shortly, then presses a kiss to Hilda’s temple before he’s off, vanishing into the crowd. Fida whines as he leaves.  
Byleth sighs as she strokes the animal’s nose, calming her. “He’s always moving, isn’t he.”  
“I think if he stayed in one spot too long he’d just die.”  
“Probably true,” she says calmly even as Fida butts her in the back of the head. “But this isn’t the time to dwell on it. Let’s get to work, Hilda.”  
“Ugh. I hate it when you say that.”  
-

Lorenz, it turns out, is quite good at negotiating with rebellious lords. Peace once again comes to Fódlan with minimal casualties. Claude stays in Derdriu for a week, plotting with Byleth almost the entire time. He’s still the same sarcastic, obnoxious Claude, but with Byleth, he’s softer, warmer. He smiles near constantly regardless, but with her they’re almost all real, beautiful in that way Hilda can hardly look away from. Their rings glint on their fingers, sparkling like their eyes as they talk of the future and the world they will make.  
Claude convinces Byleth to send Lorenz to arrange a trade treaty when Byleth feels her government is strong enough. Hilda immediately volunteers to accompany him, and she and Claude begin to discuss how best to keep him in the dark until he gets there. Byleth seems more concerned about the actual deal, but they ignore that in favor of plotting how best to confuse their friend.  
-

As soon as Claude leaves, Byleth dismantles her government and begins to rebuild. She proceeds in what Claude called the “double scandal” method: she rolls out many of her reforms simultaneously, so that the uproar caused by one would overshadow potential complaints about the other. As such, the change of Garreg Mach’s enrollment to purely merit does not draw much dissent, because the archbishop position is dissolved in favor of an elected council. Byleth’s refusal to appoint advisors based on their possession of a Crest or even their noble status draws enough attention that Dedue’s appointment as captain of the guard goes practically unnoticed, even in the former Kingdom. Tax reforms take importance over the thorough investigation of the former Imperial government; the dissolution of the Knights of Seiros is swept under the rug by the changes in treaties with Sreng and Brigid. Within a few months, Fódlan’s government is completely restructured, relying on regional councils and elected officials, implementing an exam system for political figures, and separating itself from the Church and the mess of Crests. It won’t solve everything- the damage the Church and Nemesis had done is remarkable, and will take decades to repair- but it’s a start. The changes are certainly controversial, but no further rebellions spring up.  
(Byleth jokes that she just has to survive the next year or two for her reforms to stick. Dedue never finds her jokes very funny.)  
Hilda helps organize a new system of artisan schools, discussing funding and operations with Byleth when she can. After initial approval she hashes out the remaining details with a hundred different advisors before being granted a location and enough funding to get her started. Her first class is small, a little over 30 people, but their first pieces are gifted to the Queen and her new court, attracting attention across Fódlan.  
Hilda’s favorite piece, a delicate pair of earrings made out of gold wiring and sapphires, tiny birds etched into the stones, is gifted to the youngest member of the new Council of Seiros, who cries when Hilda presents them to her.  
-

Four months after the Almyran cavalry are dispatched to Derdriu, troops from the Kingdom of Fódlan are sent east to quell a rebellion along Almyra’s southern coast. By all reports the rebellion is short lived, folding soon after reinforcements joined the cavalry. Grateful for the assistance and believing their countries to have similar interests, the King of Almyra extends an invitation to the Queen of Fódlan and her court.  
Caught up in designing the new exam system, (“Our students have to take exams before we let them ride a wyvern into battle. There should be exams before we let someone run part of this country.”) Byleth decides to send a convoy in her place. The group is headed by Lorenz, who has instructions to start negotiations on a trade treaty. Hilda convinces Byleth to allow her to accompany Lorenz and sends a letter to Claude, letting him know that their plan is on.  
-

They arrive at the palace after weeks of traveling, first over the hills of the former Alliance, then squeezing through Fódlan’s Throat, then endlessly trudging the dull, dry brush of Almyra’s western plains, and finally through the colorful, dizzying streets of the capital. By the time they reach the palace, Hilda is about to start begging for a bath- Claude hadn’t been lying when he’d said Almyra was much warmer than Fódlan.  
Claude’s hospitality does not disappoint. When they arrive, their retinue is led one way while she and Lorenz are shown elegant guest rooms with baths already drawn and no expectation to have an audience for an hour. Hilda wastes no time sinking into the water and scrubbing until she feels somewhat human again. When she puts away her things and dresses to meet the king, she heads out the door to find Lorenz and almost walks into him.  
Outside her door, he’d been talking to a smooth faced guard. She smiles politely as Lorenz introduces her with a flourish. The guard bows his head in acknowledgement.  
“My name is Azim. I am to escort you to see the king.”  
“Nice to meet you. I was expecting to need a translator, but your speech is wonderful.”  
The guard smiles easily. “I have been trained specifically for the border. A squadron here is preparing to help guard the crossing into Fódlan, once the agreement is finalized. We’re all counting on you.” Hilda swallows uncomfortably at the reminder of the responsibility they have here as they are led past delicate gardens, arches into exquisite banquet halls, doors carved with flowers and mountains. The guard finally leads them in a room deep in the palace, cushions lined neatly on the floor and curtains in the shades of the forest covering the walls. After a quick explanation on how to bow properly, the guard posts himself outside the door.  
They wait for several minutes, chatting quietly, before the announcement comes.  
“Bow for the King of Almyra!”  
Both Hilda and Lorenz dip their foreheads to the floor as they’d been instructed, listening to the soft sound of someone walking into the room. There’s a long silence during which neither of them dare to look up, Lorenz probably for fear of being rude, but Hilda for fear of laughing and ruining the moment.  
“Rise.”  
Hilda pushes herself to her knees in unison with Lorenz, and makes eye contact with Claude, dressed in shimmering fabrics and layers of jewelry. She holds a straight face for all of two seconds before she’s forcing down laughter. To the side, Lorenz begins to shift like a pot of water being brought to boil.  
“Claude?!” he finally screeches, and that breaks her. Whatever Lorenz says next is lost as she’s rolling on the floor with laughter.  
“So you’ve been here the whole time? Why did the Queen not simply tell me that you would be here-”  
“Well, Lorenz, I’m actually-”  
“If you have been laying the groundwork for trade relations, then hopefully-”  
“How have you not gotten this, it’s been-”  
“-even you could hardly muddle things up if-”  
“I’m trying to tell you-”  
“-though I’m not sure how you arranged this-”  
“-the _king_ -”  
“-of course- wait, what did you say?”  
“I am the _king of Almyra_.”  
There’s a beat of silence.  
“Alright, Claude, this has been horribly funny.” Lorenz’s tone suggests it has been anything but. “However, we are actually here to see the actual king.”  
“Lorenz. I am being serious.”  
“You are not.”  
Claude throws up his hands, sending gold bangles cascading down his arms. “I wear my fancy outfit and everything.” He shakes his head solemnly.  
Hilda taps Lorenz on the shoulder. “Maybe you should ask someone? To confirm?”  
All she gets is an eyeroll. “You think he didn’t convince everyone in the vicinity to cover for him?”  
She opens her mouth to protest, but no, that is something Claude would do.  
“Well…”  
Claude turns abruptly in a shimmer of fine silks. Pulling Lorenz along, he walks out a door in the back of the room. The space beyond it is stunning, probably the formal throne room. The floor is decorated with mosaics of horses and wyverns, arches to the sides reveal trees laden with fruit, while the patterns on the ceiling swirl and interlace like clouds. Amidst the white of the room is a gold divan surrounded by hanging curtains and decorated with embroidered cushions. Claude marches straight up to the divan and pulls aside the curtains, revealing a large portrait.  
It shows a tall man with thick, dark hair, a woman with sharp features and piercing green eyes, both dressed in finery befitting Almyran royalty. Between them stands a teenager that is unmistakably Claude.  
Lorenz stumbles into Hilda, who pushes him back the way they came and sits him down on the cushions. Soon after, Claude reenters the room, closing the doors before he sinks down across from them, the glint of mischief in his eyes.  
“I think you had better explain yourself, Claude,” says Lorenz, whose voice is caught somewhere between rage and desperation.  
“The Alliance’s relationship with Almyra wasn’t so terrible, once. My father was visiting Riegan territory when he met my mother; her decision to run off with him certainly soured political relations. Unlike the kings before him, my father only had one wife, and only one child. All it would take for his cousins and siblings to get on the throne would be my death, so obviously they all tried to make it happen. Someone came a little too close, so my mother convinced my grandfather to take me in, and I trained under Judith in Fódlan for a few years. I came back home when I was 15 or so, then Godfrey died and I was named heir and returned to Fódlan. And the rest you know, of course.”  
“Many rulers had more than one spouse?” Hilda asks, more to cover Lorenz’s sputtering than out of actual curiosity.  
“Yeah, it’s a long running tradition, but not everyone adheres to it. Each child would be assigned a region and supported by their parent. It led to a lot of fighting amongst siblings. A waste of resources, really, fighting amongst yourself.”  
“It certainly gives those parents a lot of influence.”  
“Yes,” Claude laughs. “Mothers are deadly here.”  
Hilda snorts. “You once told me your mother beat up your fighting instructor.”  
He laughs again. “Yeah, it was hilarious. Nader still hasn’t lived it down.”  
“That was _Nader_? Ohhh, I have to tell my brother, he’ll love that.”  
“Please,” Lorenz cuts in, strangled, “hold on. Your mother is from House Riegan, correct?”  
“Yes.”  
“And she married the King of Almyra? Who had only one son, you?”  
“Now you’re getting it, Lorenz.”  
Lorenz sputters in frustration. “You were lying the whole time?!”  
“Not lying, just… strategically not telling the whole truth.”  
“Next you’re going to tell me your name isn’t actually Claude.”  
“Well, here I go more often by Khalid.”  
“I _loathe_ you.”  
“Oh, now that’s not a way to speak to a ruler, Lorenz! Where’s your propriety!”  
“How can you call yourself a ruler when you lie so flagrantly! I hardly even know who you are at this point!”  
Claude stands, drawing himself up to his full height. “Khalid von Riegan the insert title here. My mother is Tiana von Riegan and my father was King Kadmiel the Unwavering,” Claude says grandly, bowing for extra effect. “It is my utmost pleasure to make your acquaintance.”  
“Nice to meet you,” Hilda says, as Lorenz finally boils over.  
-  
(About an hour into their meeting, a young servant walks in, handing Claude a piece of paper before bowing his way out of the room.  
“Oh dear,” says Claude as he reads it, a touch sarcastically. “General Iantha won’t be able to join us at our discussion tomorrow. Apparently she’s fallen quite ill.”  
“Even as king you would stoop so low? You’re incorrigible,” snaps Lorenz, disgust coloring his words. “I can’t believe you would do that to one of your own generals.”  
“Well, if she’s wasn’t such a racist, narrow minded egomaniac, she wouldn’t be having such explosive diarrhea.”)  
-

In the morning, she beelines to Claude’s audience chambers, dodging the few servants and court members around the palace. Unsurprisingly, he’s already deep in paperwork, making marks on the draft they’d given him.  
“Hilda!” he says with a smile. “I’m going to tear this to pieces.”  
She shrugs, and sinks down onto a cushion. “I didn’t write it, so I don’t mind.”  
“Well, Lorenz will be upset then. Unfortunately, you need us more than we need you.”  
“Can’t you give an exception?” Hilda’s puppy eyes have been honed to perfection over the years, but so has Claude’s immunity to them.  
“I’m can’t show any favoritism, or else I’ll get more accusations of not having Almyra’s wellbeing at heart!” His voice hardens, sharpening to a blade. “Because of course, I am incapable of caring about this country.”  
“If you keep poisoning the nobles who piss you off, they’ll catch on eventually,” she says quietly.  
“I know. I should remove them from office.” There’s enough venom in his voice that she understands that to be a euphemism, and a cruel one.  
“You can’t do that.”  
“And why not? They only hold down the government for their own gain.”  
“But a government is formed on debate and the clashing of perspectives.” Goddess, she sounds like Lorenz. “You can’t just remove everyone that disagrees with you.”  
“It’s not _disagreement_ ,” he spits. “It’s narrow-minded, racist, vicious, self-serving judgement that has nothing to do with the betterment of anything but their positions.”  
“Still, you can’t just decide to get rid of them like this.”  
“They deserve to be removed,” and again, the word is laden with another meaning, one Hilda finds herself shying away from. “Why can’t I judge them?”  
“You'll become just like Edelgard. Pursuing a justice only you understand.”  
“Is that such a terrible thing?”  
“It was when she did it.”  
He’s silent for a long moment, leaning on his hands as he watches the wyverns flying outside the window.  
“I hate this,” he admits, the venom in his voice drained, leaving only resignation. “I’ve spent my life trying to survive long enough to reach this point. But actually convincing these people, actually putting my ideas into action… it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”  
She rubs his shoulder. “It’ll get easier.”  
“Will it?” he snaps back. Hilda recoils immediately, taking her hand back.  
“Well…” She hunts for the right words. This is really something she doesn’t understand; even if she is Claude’s friend, his experiences are completely different than hers, and there’s always so much he will never tell her. In her mind, she shuffles through the snide comments, the disdainful glances, the words said behind hands. That’s only what she’d noticed; there had to be so much more beneath the surface, so many knives in the dark. Her thoughts move to Claude’s dream, people of all kinds mingling on the streets, no barriers between them. It seems so impossible, yet so beautiful.  
“It will be worth it,” are the words she decides on. “It will be.”  
-

An hour into the trade discussion, she isn’t sure it will be worth it. Her legs are completely dead under the table, lulled into sleep by her weight. Lorenz seems to be moments away from screaming, smashing the table, or both. Claude’s left eye has begun to twitch underneath the patterned band he wears across his forehead.  
The Almyran court is a diverse group, as each represents a distinct region or group of the country. From the merchants to the wyvern breeders, from the southern nomads to the northern industrialists, the spread of interests sitting on ornate cushions around the table seems far too wide to ever be compromised into a foreign trade proposal. However, they have barely talked about the proposal itself, stuck in petty arguments about a word here, a comma there, refusing to actually get to the heart of the matter.  
Hilda watches as a large man to her left, dressed in elaborately embroidered silks, begins refuting Claude’s most recent point. Her translator ducks to inform her that this is Hazma Seif, representing the many, many silk traders of Almyra, who have a vested interest in this proposal. The translator continues dutifully transforming what the man is saying about tariff rates so Hilda can understand, and Hilda dutifully pretends to be listening and not falling asleep. There is a scratching of quill on paper, and to her horror Hilda sees Lorenz is taking notes. When the man finishes, Lorenz moves to counter, eager to discuss the economics of the deal rather than the syntax. He fumbles with the names and possibly mixes two regions, and then begins reading off his notes. Though the start is rough, he ploughs on and is about to launch into something passionate about tariffs when there is a bright, tinkling laugh down the table.  
Lorenz stops immediately, his face paling as his ears turn the color of the rose on his lapel. The laugher smothers the noise behind a heavily jeweled hand, but sound still slips around her fingers.  
“May I continue? If you are looking for something to amuse you, perhaps you should look elsewhere, as I am not a jester, and I would so hate to take up more of your time,” snaps Lorenz. The translators around the room all murmur, some softening his words, others sharpening them. Hilda looks out over the reactions around the room, each person receiving slightly different information. Almost everyone in the room had their own translator, whether for the convenience of not having to share or the lack of trust in others. The only person without anyone whispering in their ear from time to time was Claude, whose eyes were tracking the conversation like a hawk’s.  
The woman takes little heed of Lorenz and whispers something to the woman to her right. Both of them titter like birds, their perfume so strong Hilda can smell it from half a room away. Lorenz’s knuckles are turning white, a sure sign of danger, and Hilda begins to worry about the dam of frustration bursting when Claude lifts his chin off his fist and begins to speak.  
His speech feels different in Almyran: it lilts and dances, soft around the consonants, curling around the vowels. Warmth floods her ear and for a moment she wonders at the power in Claude’s voice before the translation begins.  
“May I ask exactly what is amusing, Lady Dagher? Is it Lord Gloucester?” _Lady_ and _Lord_ are certainly not the words he uses, but they were close enough honorifics to serve in place of the confusing rankings of Almyra. Hilda wonders if Lady Dagher would dare to laugh if she knew that Lorenz’s rank as member of the Queen’s Cabinet was one of the highest in Fódlan.  
Lady Dagher provides no response, seeming startled by Claude’s interference. Even without an answer, he continues.  
“If you find his manners lacking, then perhaps that has more to do with your ignorance than with his. Lord Gloucester is well known in Fódlan for the refinement of his speech and the integrity of his character; he has made a name for himself both as a warrior and a politician. He has spent the time and effort to travel here, to bring an offering from his country to ours. You seem to find Lord Gloucester’s struggles amusing; have you considered that you would look just as foolish at a table in Fódlan? Regardless of his mistakes- which, among all of the things discussed at this table today, are of practically no importance- Lord Gloucester has made an effort to appear here before the court and pay heed to our customs. Now, Lady Dagher, have you even considered learning anything about Fódlan’s culture and etiquette? Have any of you?”  
Hilda’s translator whispers through the silence of the court. Sighing, Claude leans back into the cushions and gestures to Lorenz.  
“Please, continue. I would very much like to hear your rebuttal.”  
Fragments of translation and conversation fill the air as Lorenz reorders his notes, takes a breath, and starts again. His voice is somewhat strangled, but it loosens as he continues. The debate finally turns to the actual content of the proposal, where Hilda can actually chime in. Most of the discussion is carried by Lorenz and Hazma Seif, but the additions of the other members of the court are all on topic and polite, rather than the drivel they had been saying earlier. Hilda does not miss how many of them look to Claude after speaking, gauging his reaction.  
Undercutting everything is the constant muttering of the translators; overseeing everything is Claude’s sharp gaze. Gradually, the proposal is twisted and snipped and rebuilt. And so the first formal trade agreement between Almyra and Fódlan in almost a century slowly comes to life.  
-

(When they finally sign the agreement, two days later, Claude’s signature is the first on it. Hilda notices he’s signed it twice; once in the thin letters she’s seen scrawled across countless papers in school, and once in the curling script of Almyran.)  
-

After a comfortable week of the warm Almyran sun and Claude’s hospitality, Hilda and Lorenz prepare to leave. They’re sent off with the new trade agreement, translated into both languages by Claude, and then checked by every single member of the court and their translators, then checked again by Hilda, Lorenz, and the translators from Fódlan. The whole ordeal had been a lesson in patience, perseverance, and not throttling every single person involved. All Hilda had learned was that she was not cut out for politics at all.  
She watches Lorenz and Claude chatting quietly, waiting for her turn to say goodbye and tamping down a surge of jealousy. For Claude, Lorenz is a debate partner, a person to turn to for advice, someone fully committed to his political ideas. It stings, somewhat, to remember that Lorenz is so much closer to Claude’s deepest dream than she’ll ever be, that he is a _serious_ friend where Hilda is not. But she pushes that aside and rises on her toes to kiss Claude’s cheek, fits herself into his arms and promises to write.  
She may not be the kind of person he needs right now, or someone he can rely on to help him, or someone he shares everything with, but she is a good friend in her own way, at least.  
-

It takes over a year for Claude to decide that the governments of Almyra and Fódlan are as stable as they will get. Hilda only sees him three times in that period- once when he comes with Nader to visit Holst before heading north to Derdriu, once when he flies in to surprise Byleth, sneaking into her quarters with Hilda’s help, and once when he stands by her side at her own wedding, subtly handing her a handkerchief when she starts to cry.  
-

The King of Almyra’s invitation to the Queen of Fódlan has been long awaited in Derdriu, and Hilda finds herself in charge of arranging the retinue for the journey. Byleth had declined to attend at Claude’s last invitation, but now she was agreeing to stay for three weeks and court Claude’s court, so Hilda was urged to make a statement with the retinue.  
(She did not tell Byleth that she was under additional pressure to impress, as the last letter she’d gotten from Claude mentioned a ring.)  
She gathers as many people as she possibly can, including as many of the Golden Deer as possible, arranges pounds of tea, jewels, and weapons, to be gifted to the court, a vanguard to protect them as they travel and march through the capital when they arrive, delicate dresses for Byleth to show off her curves in, gleaming armor for their troops, new shoes for the horses, and everything else under the sun that is required for hundreds of people to accompany their Queen across the border.  
By the time they finally leave Derdriu, Hilda is already exhausted. The journey doesn’t help much, and she’s glad to be dismissed the moment they arrive at Claude’s doors. The next few days are a whirlwind of banquets, court meetings, tours of the capital, trade discussions, private audiences, tea, and the endless gardens of Almyra’s king. She’s so overwhelmed that she’s actually glad when Claude pulls her aside and asks for help with his proposal while Byleth is sparring with Nader. At least she knows something about that.  
-

Claude’s mother is thoroughly terrifying, and Hilda is glad she isn’t the one under her scrutiny at the moment.  
“Khalid?”  
“…yes?” She doesn’t think she’s ever heard Claude sound so meek.  
“Did you just call your marriage politically advantageous?” Tiana’s voice could cut through armor. Hilda winces.  
“…yes...”  
“In your mock proposal?”  
“I did…”  
“That you plan to say to the woman you love?”  
If there was a table in the room, Claude would be under it, though it wouldn’t protect him from the disgust on his mother’s face.  
“Don’t say that, Khalid.”  
“Alright…”  
Hilda remembers something, a wish told to her over a year ago, one that she had shared. _I just wish he would ask. I could even help, if he’d just let me._  
“Actually, do say that.”  
Both of them swivel to her, twin expressions of skepticism on their faces. Hilda hadn’t seen much resemblance before, but right now they look almost identical.  
“I mean it.” She turns slightly, so she’s addressing Claude head on. “She trusts you. She _loves_ you. She believes in the world you want to make and will do anything to build it. She already knows what this marriage can do for Almyra, and for Fódlan, for both of you. There’s no reason not to tell her it’s advantageous when it’s furthering a dream the two of you share, right? And I think she’d prefer you honest rather than hiding what you’re thinking.”  
Claude is staring at her open mouthed, but Tiana is quick to reply. “And if it sounds like he’s trying to use her?”  
“She knows he isn’t. Right, Claude? You’re not using her, you’re asking her for help.”  
Claude nods, some emotion crossing his face that Hilda can’t quite find the words for. Tiana huffs, but her eye has a different gleam in it as she scans Hilda’s face. There’s a moment of silence where Hilda feels trapped under two pairs of green eyes, both evaluating her for very different reasons. It only lasts a few seconds before she just has to break it.  
“Alright, maybe don’t actually say ‘politically advantageous,’ it’s a horrible phrase.”  
-

Claude insists that his second proposal also be completely private, despite Hilda’s protests. He knows the palace much better than her, and even with all her sneaking around she doesn’t manage to find the secluded garden he arranges his picnic in. Frustrated by her inability to spy on the two of them, Hilda fumes while she and Tiana wait in the guest room. They’re playing a card game Hilda only barely understands and Tiana is destroying her when a soft knock comes at the door. Claude pokes his head in and Hilda stands up immediately, beginning to ask him how it went when his face erupts into a smile.  
It’s almost blinding, how beautiful he looks.  
She hears Byleth’s dry tone come from behind him and he laughs a little, stepping into the room so Byleth can follow. She’s smiling too, softer than his boyish grin, her joy aimed entirely at him. They stand there looking at each other for a moment, their hands joined. Hilda’s eyes catch on the gold ring joining the emerald one on Byleth’s fingers.  
Then Tiana _squeals_ and runs up to Byleth, embracing her suddenly over Claude’s bright laughter. The force of Tiana’s hug makes Byleth rock back on her heels and then the women is congratulating her, telling her how excited she is to have a new person in the family. Hilda puts her hand on Claude’s shoulder, watching a bewildered Byleth bow under the onslaught of his mother.  
“Went well?”  
He’s staring at Byleth, his face still crinkled with his smile. “Yeah,” he says softly.  
“What did she think of your… ambitions?”  
He laughs. “You know what? She immediately asked me about changing our trade treaties.”  
“Ugh, you two deserve each other.”  
Claude turns towards her, his face falling. She could slap herself for making his smile vanish like that. “You really think so? We aren’t… innocent.”  
It’s an effort, to force herself to keep looking into his eyes, swirling with worry and not a little guilt. “Claude von Riegan. You have earned this. And you’re going to change the world. With her by your side.”  
The smile unfurls itself again, like the sun rising over the mountains, so bright Hilda wants to look away. He presses a kiss to her temple.  
“Thank you.”  
“It’s nothing,” she responds, uncomfortable with the recognition.  
“It’s everything. Thank you.”  
-

The King of Almyra announces his engagement publicly the next day, his arm firmly on the Queen of Fódlan’s waist. Hilda hears the murmuring throughout the palace, of the ministers and retainers who had hoped their child would have caught the king’s eye, who worry about the reaction of the people to this coward foreigner, who are concerned about the changes the ambitious pair will bring about. She tunes them out, focusing on the two of them, arm in arm, smiling at each other like no one else can see. The court has no reason to be concerned about the reaction of the people, as the palace fills with well-wishers and the streets are lined with parades and banners, many of which bear Byleth’s personal crest. The Crest of Flames hovers above the antlers of a stag, flapping in the wind next to the rearing horse of Almyra, the curved Crest of Riegan rising over its saddle. The blue and gold flags of Fódlan overlap with the green and white ones of Almyra, signaling the unity soon to come.  
-

The Queen of Fódlan announces her engagement publicly three weeks later, her hand firmly gripped in that of the King of Almyra. Hilda hears the murmuring throughout the capital building, of the nobles and lords who had hoped their child would have caught the queen’s eye, who worry about the reaction of the people to this foreign non-believer, who are concerned about the changes the ambitious pair will bring about. She tunes them out, focusing on the two of them, still smiling at each other like they’re all alone. The people of Fódlan react much like the people of Almyra, presenting the couple with their hopes for a bright future, filling the streets with music and dancing. The flags go up, the colors mingling, blending together to look like the ocean. Looking out over the city, it resembles the scene from three weeks ago so strongly that it gives Hilda déjà vu. She understands, then, what Claude had told her about people being the same everywhere. Suddenly his looming dreams seem more tangible, among the crowds on the streets rather than the stars.  
-

Their first wedding is in Almyra, much to Lorenz’s disgust. He complains the whole way there, about the disgrace of it not being in Fódlan first, about the distance from Derdriu, about the difficulty of adjusting to a new culture. Hilda tries not to respond to his complaints, especially because she knows he’s been overworked planning the wedding in Derdriu, but it takes everything in her not to strangle him. They are greeted by the royal couple, talking to them for all of five minutes before Claude and Byleth are both called away to deal with the myriad of wedding preparations still to complete. They try to stay out of the way for the few days before the wedding, during which they barely see either of them.  
Tiana informs her there’s a sword fight involved, a long-held tradition in a land so proud of its warriors, and Hilda is ecstatic. Claude is going to be _demolished_.  
The Deer all have front row seats to the fight and have of course created a betting ring. Only Lorenz is betting on Claude, claiming that Byleth would restrain herself to avoid embarrassing him, which is laughable.  
To his credit, Claude holds up better than Hilda expected, lasting much longer than she had bet. His form is delicate, clearly the result of years and years of noble training, making Byleth’s two handed slashing seem wild and out of control. She does have the advantage of fighting more often on the ground; Claude loses his footing in the dust more than once as he continually dances out of the way of her weapon. He doesn’t seem to have the stamina to avoid her for long. As the fight continues, Byleth bears down on him with strength and speed; eventually he slips badly enough to fall, landing hard on one knee as Byleth’s sword swings to a stop inches from his head. The crowd cheers as she lifts him to his feet, and Hilda thinks that only the Deer are close enough to hear her tell Claude that she would consider using her dominant hand next time.  
-  
(Ignatz wins the bet.)  
-

The feast is held in the elegant white throne room, hundreds of people all chatting and talking in a deafening roar. Music and dancing fills the center of the room while low tables and cushions mark the edges, giving guests space to indulge in the lavish banquet prepared for them. Members of both courts chat and make deals with one another, melting together in a myriad of color, jewelry, and elegance.  
The room only quiets when Tiana calls for silence. Her speech is concise and almost clipped; much of the audience likely assumes there’s a coldness there, but Hilda guesses Tiana would cry if she talked any longer. Claude thanks his mother before addressing the guests himself.  
“I hope to connect our two countries as well as our hearts. Our future is boundless, my love, and our countries in union can accomplish miracles.”  
He presents Byleth with an envelope of blueprints, in stark contrast to the jewels and silks presented by the members of the court. He’d asked Hilda if they were a good gift and she had assured him that he needed to get something else to go with it, but Byleth is nearly in tears as she shuffles through the papers, whispering to Claudle in apparent disbelief as she does.  
It would take some time, but with the design created by a team of Almyran and Fódlan architects, Fódlan’s Locket would be turned into a merchant outpost, providing housing and a market for people crossing the border in either direction. The pass would still be narrow, especially on the Almyran side, but Claude hoped that the new outpost could make the journey more attractive. As she watches Byleth throw her arms around him, Hilda thinks that maybe he hadn’t needed an extra gift after all.  
-

Byleth’s gift is, to Hilda’s surprise, revealed before their second wedding in Derdriu. The courts of Almyra and Fódlan are traveling together in a huge caravan and approaching the border when Byleth calls for the group to stop. They all gather around, facing the mountains hiding Fódlan behind them. Byleth’s voice is hard to hear over the chatter, but her short speech is clearly directed at Claude.  
“This, I hope, will be the culmination of a long-time dream. With this, and the gift you just gave me, we can unite our homelands for good.” She pauses somewhat awkwardly. “I also want to assure you that I have taken the proper precautions.”  
Flayn approaches her with a long wooden box, opening it before Byleth. The Sword of the Creator emerges in Byleth’s hand, the center beginning to glow as it interacts with her Crest. She turns towards the mountains and the sword brightens, light pouring out of it. The intensity of it increases until it becomes painful to look at, like staring at the sun at noon. Murmurs ripple through the crowd but are soon drowned out by a deafening roar. The ground beneath them shakes and several people cry out as they fall. The noise seems to consume the world for a moment before it suddenly ends, the light burning through her eyelids fading. There is long moment of silence before she hears the sound of footsteps, moving away from her.  
Hilda shakily looks up. Byleth has dropped to her knees, seemingly out of exhaustion. Claude walks up behind her, resting his hand on her shoulder, face turned up towards the mountain range in front of them. She can see the side of his face from where she is standing; he’s crying, tears dripping slowly down his cheek.  
The path leading up to Fódlan’s Locket had been perhaps twenty feet wide, barely allowing caravans to pass each other. Part of the defense of the Locket had been the difficulty of getting enough troops through the pass to attack it, since the narrow passage hindered army movements. Tucked behind an outcropping, the fort was difficult to see, the rising cliffs preventing an invading force from finding an angle where it could target the walls.  
But the mountains had moved.  
The pass had widened, doubling in size. The distance between the adjacent peaks was noticeably changed, the ground ahead of them churned, filled with rocks and mud. Hilda could see Fódlan’s Locket from here when she couldn’t before, the path leading towards it widened enough to change the sight lines. The Sword of the Creator is dull now, resting on the ground by Byelth’s knees. There is a moment of near silence, during which all Hilda can hear is the scratching of a pen on paper behind her. Then the crowd erupts into cheers, whoops of astonishment and delight. She turns to watch the mixed courts of Almyra and Fódlan admire the miracle they’d just seen, wonder about the consequences, breathlessly speculate about the new opportunities available to their countries.  
Ignatz is sketching furiously even as he is being jostled by the people around him, rushing to capture the scene before Claude or Byleth move too far. Fortunately for him, the two do not seem to be in a hurry to go anywhere.  
-

Their second wedding in Derdriu is magnificent. The whole city glimmers like a jewel, covered in banners and flowers. Hilda makes a point to mention particularly beautiful arrangements to Flayn, who’d done many of them. The Aquatic City lives up to its name as Claude and Byleth tour it together, first by land and then by boat. Thousands of residents gather to watch the King and Queen pass, throwing petals and confetti as they go by, crowding the streets and the canals. The palace gleams in the sunlight as the pair and their retinue make their way up the carved steps.  
Marianne officiates the ceremony for all to see, her voice ringing out down the steps and over the crowds. She hardly mentions the goddess as she formally weds Claude and Byleth. As she binds their hands with ribbon, she tells them, “Your unity is now complete. Both in Fódlan and Almyra, your hearts have been bound. This binding will not break, and will never fail. It will tie you together forever, and brings you both closer to your dreams. A love like yours is boundless.”  
The setting sun paints them in rich oranges and purples as they turn to bow to Marianne and then enter the palace.  
Hilda slips her handkerchief into Claude’s free hand, as surreptitiously as she can.  
-

The grand entrance hall of the palace leaves her breathless. Thousands of candles light the space, floating in the fountains, on the walls, on the banquet tables, dangling in the air. Hilda tries to trace the wires she knows must be there and can see nothing, only lights bobbing as they climb towards the ceiling. The air is heavy with the rich scent of flowers, the massive white heads of peonies drifting alongside the candles both in the water and in the air. Soft music from an orchestra fills the air as the guest spread out, sitting to eat, standing to chat, bowing to congratulate the couple. The tinkling of glass and laughter leaves Hilda warm as she stands aside with Marianne.  
The whole crowd stops to watch Claude and Byleth dance amongst the candles, their steps hardly better than they’d been at the ball all those years ago. It doesn’t matter; caught up in each other, drifting on the music, surrounded by light, they look divine anyway. Hilda drags Marianne with her as the Golden Deer begin to fill the floor alongside them, adding their footsteps to the music filling the room. Changing partners over the night, stopping to chat and to eat and to gaze at the brilliant candles, Hilda would say that this wedding might rival her own.  
Marianne stands next to her, holding her hand as the lights dance over both of them, practically glowing with happiness in the candlelight.  
_Might._  
-

“Hilda,” Lorenz says months later, when she’s in Derdriu visiting Byleth and he’s wrangling Byleth’s court with an iron fist. “Do you remember Lindhart, from school?”  
She nods. The last time she’d seen him was at Fort Merceus, pouring spell after spell into Caspar’s broken body. She didn’t think he’d survived the rain of fire that had come after.  
“I, uh, ran into him. Near Enbarr.”  
“You ran into him,” she repeats doubtfully. Lindhart would be labelled as a criminal for having followed Edelgard, if anyone knew he was alive. She assumes this is not the time to mention that out loud.  
“He thinks he might be able to save Lysithea,” he says in a rush.  
The world seems to stop. Lorenz is watching her, hope curling around the corners of his eyes. She thinks of Lysithea, who’d nearly died so many times during the war, who’d become only weaker since it ended. A thought strikes her.  
“You have to tell Byleth.”  
“The Queen?” Hilda does not miss how Lorenz’s face closes off instantly, like he’s already thinking of how to spirit Lindhart out of Fódlan.  
“Her Crest… I don’t think she ever figured out what it would do to her. Lindhart might be able to tell her.”  
He stares at her for a moment in disbelief. “Right,” he says finally, nodding in understanding. “Who knows what her powers mean for her. And when Rhea died…”  
They both shudder at the memory, at how sick Byleth had gotten, at how Marianne had been preparing for a second funeral when Byleth had suddenly recovered.  
“But Lindhart…”  
She swallows. They both know none of the other Eagles had survived, and that Lindhart should be dead as well. She finds herself using the same words she’d said to Claude, months ago.  
“It’s worth it, Lorenz. It will be.”  
-

Lorenz wrings his hands, pacing the room neatly, like a pendulum.  
“You have to trust Marianne and Lindhart,” she scolds, as if her leg isn’t bouncing like mad. Lorenz only grunts, turning sharply on his heel.  
“Leave him, Hilda, he’s too uptight,” says Claude from where he’s sitting on the floor, surrounded by every book on Crests he could get his hands on. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days, which he probably hasn’t; Hilda refrains from commenting on him being hypocritical only because she’s almost as stressed as he is.  
They’ve already been waiting for two hours, stuck in a side room of Deirdru’s palace, waiting for news. Waiting for something, anything.  
When Marianne opens the door, all three of them turn instantly, silently awaiting her words.  
“Um… well…” and Hilda loves her wife, but she prays to the goddess for patience as Marianne struggles to speak.  
“They’re both…”  
They all move closer, Marianne bending under the attention.  
“They’ve both fine.”  
The sigh of relief shakes the room.  
It takes time for both of them to recover, especially Lysithea, and Byleth’s eyes are no longer the entrancing color they’d once been, but when she sees Lorenz picking Lysithea up and spinning her without a care, she knows it was worth it.  
-  
(Lindhart vanishes again soon after the operation. Hilda pretends not to notice how poorly dyed the new palace historian’s hair is.)  
-

On the fifth anniversary of the unification of Fódlan, the Golden Deer all gather in Derdriu for the celebrations. The Aquatic Capital is made even more ethereal by the blues and golds strung throughout the city, matching the hue of the sun on the water. In a comfortable side room of the palace, long after the official feast has ended, Hilda watches for a moment as she goes to refill her drink.  
They’ve all changed, even if only slightly; Hilda’s hair is even longer, while Leonie’s is shaved on the sides; Claude lounges in his Almyran silks as Lorenz wears a tight blazar in Dagdan style. Raphael looks more and more like a bear as his beard grows in; Ignatz’s moustache is, in Hilda’s opinion, questionable, drooping at the ends like the tips of his paintbrushes. Byleth’s eyes no longer glow with ethereal light and Lysithea’s hair has started growing in brown instead of white. She looks out at everyone and marvels at the fact that, despite everything, they’re all still here.  
Leonie is complaining good naturedly to Byleth that her work has dried up, saying the Queen’s guard is doing _too_ well in dealing with Fódlan’s bandit problem. Lorenz is playing chess with Claude and appears to be losing, his brow furrowed in annoyance while Claude watches smugly. In a swirl of color, Lysithea shows off her dress to Marianne, who asks about the thin silver jewelry on her arms. With a booming laugh, Raphael breaks into Byleth and Leonie’s conversation, slinging his arms over their shoulders. Scanning the room, Hilda finds Ignatz in the corner, sketching in his notebook once again. They make eye contact across the room, and he smiles slightly.  
Hilda understands the urge to capture these people, this moment. She never wants to let them go.  
-

In the heat of the Verdant Rain sun, Hilda wanders the streets of Deirdru, arm in arm with her wife. They weave through the stalls and dodge the crowds, a hundred scents and a thousand voices floating through the air. Glittering gems catch Hilda’s attention, and she drags Marianne over to a stall selling bold, bright jewelry from Sreng. Behind the owner is a coffee shop with specialties from Dagda, and she can smell the rich scent of Duscar dishes overlapping with the sweetness of Morfis fruits, hear the languages of Almyra and Brigid mixing with the dialects of Fódlan. As Marianne picks up an earring, turning it over in her hands, Hilda surveys the city. The palace looms over the city, its windows gleaming in the sun reflected off the water. Claude is in there, she knows, coming up with new plans and schemes hand in hand with Byleth, new ways to shape the countries he loves.  
It shouldn’t be much work. His dream has already come true; she’s standing in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And a nice long chapter to end on! This ended up longer than my thesis!  
> Thank you for reading this far, and I hope you liked it. Everyone's comments have been so lovely, and really helped motivate me to actually finish :)


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